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4V '  ^  ' 


L  I  B  R_A  RY 
OF  THE 
U  N  I  VER.5  ITY 
or  ILLI  NOIS 

BOB.  a 

V.4 


Library  of  The  World's  Best 
Mystery  and  Detective  Stories 


Library  of 
The  World's  Best 

MYSTERY  AND 
DETECTIVE 
STORIES 

Edited  by 

JULIAN  HAWTHORNE 

One  Hundred  and  One 
Tales  of  Mystery  by  Famous  Authors 
of  East  and  West 

In  Six  Volumes 

American  French,  Italian,  Etc. 

English  :  Scotch     German,  Russian,  Etc. 

English  :  Irish       Oriental  :  Modern  Magic 

New  York 
The  Review  of  Reviews  Company 
1907 


TRANSLATORS 

whose  work  is  represented  in  this  collection 
of  '^The  World's  Best  MYSTERY  and 
DETECTIVE  STORIES,"  many  here 
rendered   into   English    for   the   first  time 


Arthur  Arrivet  Japanese 

John  P.  Brown  Turkish 

United  States  Legation,  Constantinople 

Jonathan  Sturges  French 

Sir  Richard  Francis  Burton  Arabic 

Lady  Isabel  Burton  Arabic 

Grace  I.  Colbron  German-Scan dinavian 

Frederick  Taber  Cooper,  Ph.D.   .    .   Romance  Languages 

George  F.  Duysters  Spanish 

Herbert  A.  Giles  Chinese 

British  Consular  Service 

Glanvill  Gill  French 

D.  F.  Hannigan,  LL.B.  French 

Louis  Hoffmann  French 

Florence  Irwin  French 

Charles  Johnston  Russian-Oriental 

Royal  Asiatic  Society,  Indian  Civil  Service 

R.  Shelton  Mackenzie   French 

Ellen  Marriage  French 

John  A.  Pierce  French 

W.  R.  S.  Ralston,  M.A  Tibetan 

Edward  Rehatsek  Persian 

Royal  Asiatic  Society,  Examiner  Bombay  University 

Mary  J.  Safford  French 

Franz  Anton  von  Schiefner  Tibetan 

Librarian,  St,  Petersburg  Academy  of  Sciences 
Charles  Henry  Tawney,  M.A.,  CLE.  ....  Hindoo 

Librarian,  India  Office 

R.  Whittling,  M.A.  (Oxon.)  French 

Edward  Ziegler  German 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2015 


https://archive.org/details/libraryofworldsb04hawt 


"Through  a  Mist  In  the  Depths  of  the  Looking-Glass " 

Drawing  copyrighted,  1903,  by  M.  Walter  Dunne 
To  illustrate  "The  Horla,"  by  Guy  de  Maupassant 


Library  of 
The  World's  Best 

MYSTERY  AND 
DETECTIVE 
STORIES 

Edited  by 

JULIAN  HAWTHORNE 


FRENCH  ::  ITALIAN  ::  SPANISH  ::  LATIN 


Maupassant 

MiLLE 

Adam 

Erckmann-Chatrian 
Balzac 


Voltaire 
Alarcon 
Capuana 
Apuleius 

Pliny,  the  Younger 


New  York 
The  Review  of  Reviews  Company 
1907 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
The  Review  of  Reviews  Company 


Table  of  Contents 

PAGE 

Henri  Ren£  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant  (1850-93). 

The  Necklace   9 

The  Man  with  the  Pale  Eyes   18 

An  Uncomfortable  Bed   23 

Ghosts   26 

Fear      2   32 

The  Confession   39 

The  Horla   44 

Pierre  Mille. 

The  Miracle  of  Zob^ide   72 

ViLLIERS  DE  lTsLE  AdAM. 

The  Torture  by  Hope   80 

Erckmann-Chatrian  (1822-99) — (182 6-90) . 

The  OwPs  Ear   86 

The  Invisible  Eye   97 

The  Waters  of  Death       .      .      .  .      .  .115 

Honor6  de  Balzac  (i 799-1850). 

Melmoth  Reconciled   130 

The  Conscript   181 

Jean  FRAN901S  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire  (1694-17  78). 

Zadig  the  Babylonian   201 

7 


Table  of  Contents 

Pedro  de  Alar9on.  pack 
The  Nail  260 

LuiGi  Capuana  (1839-00). 

The  Deposition  283 

Lucius  Apuleius  (Second  Century). 

The  Adventure  of  the  Three  Robbers    ....  292 

Pliny,  the  Younger  (First  Century). 

Letter  to  Sura  301 


8 


French -Italian-Spanish-Latin 
Mystery  Stories 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

The  Necklace 

gHE  was  one  of  those  pretty  and  charming  girls  who  are 
sometimes,  as  if  by  a  mistake  of  destiny,  born  in  a 
family  of  clerks.  She  had  no  dowry,  no  expectations,  no 
means  of  being  known,  understood,  loved,  wedded,  by  any 
rich  and  distinguished  man ;  and  she  let  herself  be  married 
to  a  little  clerk  at  the  Ministry  of  Public  Instruction. 

She  dressed  plainly  because  she  could  not  dress  well,  but 
she  was  as  unhappy  as  though  she  had  really  fallen  from  her 
proper  station ;  since  with  women  there  is  neither  caste  nor 
rank;  and  beauty,  grace,  and  charm  act  instead  of  family 
and  birth.  Natural  fineness,  instinct  for  what  is  elegant, 
suppleness  of  wit,  are  the  sole  hierarchy,  and  make  from  wo- 
men of  the  people  the  equals  of  the  very  greatest  ladies.  * 

She  suffered  ceaselessly,  feeling  herself  born  for  all  the 
delicacies  and  all  the  luxuries.  She  suffered  from  the  pov- 
erty of  her  dwelling,  from  the  wretched  look  of  the  walls, 
from  the  worn-out  chairs,  from  the  ugliness  of  the  curtains. 
All  those  things,  of  which  another  woman  of  her  rank 
would  never  even  have  been  conscious,  tortured  her  and 
made  her  angry.  The  sight  of  the  Httle  Breton  peasant 
who  did  her  humble  housework  aroused  in  her  regrets 
which  were  despairing,  and  distracted  dreams.  She  thought 
of  the  silent  antechambers  hung  with  Oriental  tapestry, 
lit  by  tall  bronze  candelabra,  and  of  the  two  great  footmen 
in  knee  breeches  who  sleep  in  the  big  armchairs,  made 
drowsy  by  the  heavy  warmth  of  the  hot-air  stove.  She 
thought  of  the  long  salons  fitted  up  with  ancient  silk,  of  the 

9 


Fremh  Mystery  Stories 

delicate  furniture  carrying  priceless  curiosities,  and  of  the 
coquettish  perfumed  boudoirs  made  for  talks  at  five  o'clock 
with  intimate  friends,  with  men  famous  and  sought  after, 
whom  all  women  envy  and  whose  attention  they  all  desire. 

When  she  sat  down  to  dinner,  before  the  round  table  cov- 
ered with  a  tablecloth  three  days  old,  opposite  her  husband, 
who  uncovered  the  soup  tureen  and  declared  with  an  en- 
chanted air,  Ah,  the  good  pot-au-feu !  I  don't  know  any- 
thing better  than  that,"  she  thought  of  dainty  dinners,  of 
shining  silverware,  of  tapestry  which  peopled  the  walls  with 
ancient  personages  and  with  strange  birds  flying  in  the 
midst  of  a  fairy  forest ;  and  she  thought  of  delicious  dishes 
served  on  marvelous  plates,  and  of  the  whispered  gallan- 
tries which  you  listen  to  with  a  sphinx-like  smile,  while  you 
are  eating  the  pink  flesh  of  a  trout  or  the  wings  of  a  quail. 

She  had  no  dresses,  no  jewels,  nothing.  And  she  loved 
nothing  but  that;  she  felt  made  for  that.  She  would  so 
have  liked  to  please,  to  be  envied,  to  be  charming,  to  be 
sought  after. 

She  had  a  friend,  a  former  schoolmate  at  the  convent, 
who  was  rich,  and  whom  she  did  not  like  to  go  and  see  any 
more,  because  she  suffered  so  much  when  she  came  back. 

But,  one  evening,  her  husband  returned  home  with  a 
triumphant  air,  and  holding  a  large  envelope  in  his  hand. 

"  There,"  said  he,    here  is  something  for  you." 

She  tore  the  paper  sharply,  and  drew  out  a  printed  card 
which  bore  these  words : 

"  The  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  and  Mme.  Georges 
Ramponneau  request  the  honor  of  M.  and  Mme.  Loisel's 
company  at  the  palace  of  the  Ministry  on  Monday  even- 
ing, January  i8th." 

Instead  of  being  delighted,  as  her  husband  hoped,  she 
threw  the  invitation  on  the  table  with  disdain,  murmuring  : 
What  do  you  want  me  to  do  with  that?  " 
But,  my  dear,  I  thought  you  would  be  glad.  You 
never  go  out,  and  this  is  such  a  fine  opportunity.    I  had 

lO 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

awful  trouble  to  get  it.  Everyone  wants  to  go;  it  is  very 
select,  and  they  are  not  giving  many  invitations  to  clerks. 
The  whole  official  v/orld  will  be  there." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  irritated  eye,  and  she  said, 
impatiently : 

And  what  do  you  want  me  to  put  on  my  back  ?  " 
He  had  not  thought  of  that ;  he  stammered : 
Why,  the  dress  you  go  to  the  theater  in.   It  looks  very 
well,  to  me." 

He  stopped,  distracted,  seeing  that  his  wife  was  crying. 
Two  great  tears  descended  slowly  from  the  corners  of  her 
eyes  toward  the  corners  of  her  mouth.    He  stuttered : 

"What's  the  matter?   What's  the  matter?" 

But,  by  a  violent  effort,  she  had  conquered  her  grief,  and 
she  replied,  with  a  calm  voice,  while  she  wiped  her  wet 
cheeks : 

"  Nothing.  Only  I  have  no  dress,  and  therefore  I  can't 
go  to  this  ball.  Give  your  card  to  some  colleague  whose 
wife  is  better  equipped  than  L" 

He  was  in  despair.   He  resumed : 

"  Come,  let  us  see,  Mathilde.  How  much  would  it  cost, 
a  suitable  dress,  which  you  could  use  on  other  occasions, 
something  very  simple  ?  " 

She  reflected  several  seconds,  making  her  calculations 
and  wondering  also  what  sum  she  could  ask  without  draw- 
ing on  herself  an  immediate  refusal  and  a  frightened  ex- 
clamation from  the  economical  clerk. 

Finally,  she  replied,  hesitatingly : 
I  don't  know  exactly,  but  I  think  I  could  manage  it 
with  four  hundred  francs." 

He  had  grown  a  little  pale,  because  he  was  laying  aside 
just  that  amount  to  buy  a  gun  and  treat  himself  to  a  little 
shooting  next  summer  on  the  plain  of  Nanterre,  with  sev- 
eral friends  who  went  to  shoot  larks  down  there  of  a 
Sunday. 

But  he  said : 

"  All  right.  I  will  give  you  four  hundred  francs.  And 
try  to  have  a  pretty  dress." 

II 


French  Mystery  Stories 

The  day  of  the  ball  drew  near,  and  Mme.  Loisel  seemed 
sad,  uneasy,  anxious.  Her  dress  was  ready,  however.  Her 
husband  said  to  her  one  evening: 

"  What  is  the  matter?  Come,  youVe  been  so  queer  these 
last  three  days." 

And  she  answered : 

"  It  annoys  me  not  to  have  a  single  jewel,  not  a  single 
stone,  nothing  to  put  on.  I  shall  look  like  distress.  I 
should  almost  rather  not  go  at  all." 

He  resumed : 

"  You  might  wear  natural  flowers.    It's  very  stylish  at 
this  time  of  the  year.    For  ten  francs  you  can  get  two  or 
three  magnificent  roses." 
She  was  not  convinced. 
No ;  there's  nothing  more  humiliating  than  to  look  poor 
among  other  women  who  are  rich." 
But  her  husband  cried  : 
How  stupid  you  are!    Go  look  up  your  friend  Mme. 
Forestier,  and  ask  her  to  lend  you  some  jewels.  You're 
quite  thick  enough  with  her  to  do  that." 
She  uttered  a  cry  of  joy : 

It's  true.    I  never  thought  of  it." 
The  next  day  she  went  to  her  friend  and  told  of  her  dis- 
tress. 

Mme.  Forestier  went  to  a  w^ardrobe  with  a  glass  door, 
took  out  a  large  jewel  box,  brought  it  back,  opened  it, 
and  said  to  Mme.  Loisel : 
Choose,  my  dear." 

She  saw  first  of  all  some  bracelets,  then  a  pearl  necklace, 
then  a  Venetian  cross,  gold  and  precious  stones  of  ad- 
mirable workmanship.  She  tried  on  the  ornaments  before 
the  glass,  hesitated,  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  part 
with  them,  to  give  them  back.   She  kept  asking : 

"  Haven't  you  any  more  ?  " 
Why,  yes.    Look.    I  don't  know  what  you  like." 

All  of  a  sudden  she  discovered,  in  a  black  satin  box,  a 
superb  necklace  of  diamonds,  and  her  heart  began  to  beat 
with  an  immoderate  desire.    Her  hands  trembled  as  she 

12 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

took  it.  She  fastened  it  around  her  throat,  outside  her 
high-necked  dress,  and  remained  lost  in  ecstasy  at  the  sight 
of  herseh*. 

Then  she  asked,  hesitating,  filled  with  anguish : 

Can  you  lend  me  that,  only  that  ?  " 
"  Why,  yes,  certainly." 

She  sprang  upon  the  neck  of  her  friend,  kissed  her  pas- 
sionately, then  fled  with  her  treasure. 

The  day  of  the  ball  arrived.  Mme.  Loisel  made  a  great 
success.  She  w^as  prettier  than  them  all,  elegant,  gracious, 
smiHng,  and  crazy  with  joy.  All  the  men  looked  at  her, 
asked  her  name,  endeavored  to  be  introduced.  All  the 
attaches  of  the  Cabinet  w^anted  to  waltz  with  her.  She  was 
remarked  by  the  minister  himself. 

She  danced  with  intoxication,  with  passion,  made  drunk 
by  pleasure,  forgetting  all,  in  the  triumph  of  her  beauty, 
in  the  glory  of  her  success,  in  a  sort  of  cloud  of  happiness 
composed  of  all  this  homage,  of  all  this  admiration,  of  all 
these  awakened  desires,  and  of  that  sense  of  complete  vic- 
tory which  is  so  sweet  to  woman's  heart. 

She  went  away  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Her 
husband  had  been  sleeping  since  midnight,  in  a  little  de- 
serted anteroom,  with  three  other  gentlemen  whose  wives 
were  having  a  very  good  time. 

He  threw  over  her  shoulders  the  wraps  which  he  had 
brought,  modest  wraps  of  common  life,  whose  poverty  con- 
trasted with  the  elegance  of  the  ball  dress.  She  felt  this 
and  wanted  to  escape  so  as  not  to  be  remarked  by  the  other 
women,  who  were  enveloping  themselves  in  costly  furs. 

Loisel  held  her  back. 
Wait  a  bit.   You  will  catch  cold  outside.   I  will  go  and 
call  a  cab." 

But  she  did  not  listen  to  him,  and  rapidly  descended  the 
stairs.  When  they  were  in  the  street  they  did  not  find  a 
carriage;  and  they  began  to  look  for  one,  shouting  after 
the  cabmen  whom  they  saw  passing  by  at  a  distance. 

They  went  down  toward  the  Seine,  in  despair,  shivering 

13 


French  Mystery  Stories 

with  cold.  At  last  they  found  on  the  quay  one  of  those 
ancient  noctambulent  coupes  which,  exactly  as  if  they  were 
ashamed  to  show  their  misery  during  the  day,  are  never 
seen  round  Paris  until  after  nightfall. 

It  took  them  to  their  door  in  the  Rue  des  Martyrs,  and 
once  more,  sadly,  they  climbed  up  homeward.  All  was 
ended  for  her.  And  as  to  him,  he  reflected  that  he  must 
be  at  the  Ministry  at  ten  o'clock. 

She  removed  the  wraps,  which  covered  her  shoulders, 
before  the  glass,  so  as  once  more  to  see  herself  in  all  her 
glory.  But  suddenly  she  uttered  a  cry.  She  had  no  longer 
the  necklace  around  her  neck ! 

Her  husband,  already  half  undressed,  demanded : 
What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 

She  turned  madly  toward  him : 

"  I  have — I  have — Fve  lost  Mme.  Forestier's  necklace." 

He  stood  up,  distracted. 

"  What !— how  ?— Impossible  ! 

And  they  looked  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  in  the  folds 
of  her  cloak,  in  her  pockets,  everywhere.  They  did  not 
find  it. 

He  asked : 

You're  sure  you  had  it  on  when  you  left  the  ball  ?  " 
"  Yes,  I  felt  it  in  the  vestibule  of  the  palace." 
"  But  if  you  had  lost  it  in  the  street  we  should  have 
heard  it  fall.    It  must  be  in  the  cab." 

"Yes.    Probably.    Did  you  take  his  number?" 
"  No.    And  you,  didn't  you  notice  it  ?  " 
"  No." 

They  looked,  thunderstruck,  at  one  another.  At  last 
Loisel  put  on  his  clothes. 

I  shall  go  back  on  foot,"  said  he,  over  the  whole 
route  which  we  have  taken,  to  see  if  I  can't  find  it." 

And  he  went  out.  She  sat  waiting  on  a  chair  in  her  ball 
dress,  without  strength  to  go  to  bed,  overwhelmed,  with- 
out fire,  without  a  thought. 

Her  husband  came  back  about  seven  o'clock.  He  had 
found  nothing. 

14 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

He  went  to  Police  Headquarters,  to  the  newspaper  of- 
fices, to  offer  a  reward;  he  went  to  the  cab  companies — 
everywhere,  in  fact,  whither  he  was  urged  by  the  least  sus- 
picion of  hope. 

She  waited  all  day,  in  the  same  condition  of  mad  fear 
before  this  terrible  calamity. 

Loisel  returned  at  night  with  a  hollow,  pale  face ;  he  had 
discovered  nothing. 

You  must  write  to  your  friend,^'  said  he,  "  that  you 
have  broken  the  clasp  of  her  necklace  and  that  you 
are  having  it  mended.  That  will  give  us  time  to  turn 
round." 

She  wrote  at  his  dictation. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  they  had  lost  all  hope. 

And  Loisel,  who  had  aged  five  years,  declared : 
We  must  consider  how  to  replace  that  ornament." 

The  next  day  they  took  the  box  which  had  contained  it> 
and  they  went  to  the  jeweler  whose  name  was  found  within. 
He  consulted  his  books. 

It  was  not  I,  madame,  who  sold  that  necklace;  I  must 
simply  have  furnished  the  case." 

Then  they  went  from  jeweler  to  jeweler,  searching  for 
a  necklace  like  the  other,  consulting  their  memories,  sick 
both  of  them  with  chagrin  and  with  anguish. 

They  found,  in  a  shop  at  the  Palais  Royal,  a  string  of 
diamonds  which  seemed  to  them  exactly  like  the  one  they 
looked  for.  It  was  worth  forty  thousand  francs.  They 
could  have  it  for  thirty-six. 

So  they  begged  the  jeweler  not  to  sell  it  for  three  days 
yet.  And  they  made  a  bargain  that  he  should  buy  it  back 
for  thirty-four  thousand  francs  in  case  they  found  the  other 
one  before  the  end  of  February. 

Loisel  possessed  eighteen  thousand  francs  which  his 
father  had  left  him.    He  would  borrow  the  rest. 

He  did  borrow,  asking  a  thousand  francs  of  one,  five 
hundred  of  another,  five  louis  here,  three  louis  there.  He 
gave  notes,  took  up  ruinous  obligations,  dealt  with  usurers, 

15 


French  Mystery  Stories 

and  all  the  race  of  lenders.  He  compromised  all  the  rest 
of  his  life,  risked  his  signature  without  even  knowing  if 
he  could  meet  it ;  and,  frightened  by  the  pains  yet  to  come, 
by  the  black  misery  which  was  about  to  fall  upon  him,  by 
the  prospect  of  all  the  physical  privations  and  of  all  the 
moral  tortures  which  he  was  to  suffer,  he  went  to  get  the 
new  necklace,  putting  down  upon  the  merchant's  counter 
thirty-six  thousand  francs. 

When  Mme.  Loisel  took  back  the  necklace,  Mme.  Fores- 
tier  said  to  her,  with  a  chilly  manner : 

"  You  should  have  returned  it  sooner,  I  might  have 
needed  it." 

She  did  not  open  the  case,  as  her  friend  had  so  much 
feared.  If  she  had  detected  the  substitution,  what  would 
she  have  thought,  what  would  she  have  said?  Would  she 
not  have  taken  Mme.  Loisel  for  a  thief? 

Mme.  Loisel  now  knew  the  horrible  existence  of  the 
needy.  She  took  her  part,  moreover,  all  on  a  sudden,  with 
heroism.  That  dreadful  debt  must  be  paid.  She  would 
pay  it.  They  dismissed  their  servant ;  they  changed  their 
lodgings ;  they  rented  a  garret  under  the  roof. 

She  came  to  know  what  heavy  housework  meant  and  the 
odious  cares  of  the  kitchen.  She  washed  the  dishes,  using 
her  rosy  nails  on  the  greasy  pots  and  pans.  She  washed 
the  dirty  linen,  the  shirts,  and  the  dish-cloths,  which  she 
dried  upon  a  line ;  she  carried  the  slops  down  to  the  street 
every  morning,  and  carried  up  the  water,  stopping  for 
breath  at  every  landing.  And,  dressed  like  a  woman  of  the 
people,  she  went  to  the  fruiterer,  the  grocer,  the  butcher, 
her  basket  on  her  arm,  bargaining,  insulted,  defending  her 
miserable  money  sou  by  sou. 

Each  month  they  had  to  meet  some  notes,  renew  others, 
obtain  more  time. 

Her  husband  worked  in  the  evening  making  a  fair  copy 
of  some  tradesman's  accounts,  and  late  at  night  he  often 
copied  manuscript  for  five  sous  a  page. 

And  this  life  lasted  ten  years. 

At  the  end  of  ten  years  they  had  paid  everything,  every- 

i6 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

thing,  with  the  rates  of  usury,  and  the  accumulations  of  the 
compound  interest. 

Mme.  Loisel  looked  old  now.  She  had  become  the 
woman  of  impoverished  households — strong  and  hard  and 
rough.  With  frowsy  hair,  skirts  askew,  and  red  hands,  she 
talked  loud  while  washing  the  floor  with  great  swishes  of 
water.  But  sometimes,  when  her  husband  was  at  the  office, 
she  sat  down  near  the  window,  and  she  thought  of  that 
gay  evening  of  long  ago,  of  that  ball  where  she  had  been 
so  beautiful  and  so  feted. 

What  would  have  happened  if  she  had  not  lost  that  neck- 
lace ?  Who  knows  ?  who  knows  ?  How  life  is  strange  and 
changeful!  How  little  a  thing  is  needed  for  us  to  be  lost 
or  to  be  saved ! 

But,  one  Sunday,  having  gone  to  take  a  walk  in  the 
Champs  Elysees  to  refresh  herself  from  the  labors  of  the 
week,  she  suddenly  perceived  a  woman  who  was  leading 
a  child.  It  was  Mme.  Forestier,  still  young,  still  beautiful, 
still  charming. 

Mme.  Loisel  felt  moved.  Was  she  going  to  speak  to 
her?  Yes,  certainly.  And  now  that  she  had  paid,  she  was 
going  to  tell  her  all  about  it.   Why  not? 

She  went  up. 

"  Good  day,  Jeanne.'' 

The  other,  astonished  to  be  familiarly  addressed  by  this 
plain  good-wife,  did  not  recognize  her  at  all,  and  stam- 
mered : 

But — madame ! — I  do  not  know —  You  must  have 
mistaken." 

"  No.    I  am  Mathilde  Loisel.'' 
Her  friend  uttered  a  cry. 

Oh,  my  poor  Mathilde !   How  you  are  changed !  " 
"  Yes,  I  have  had  days  hard  enough,  since  I  have  seen 
you,  days  wretched  enough — and  that  because  of  you !  " 
"Of  me!    How  so?" 

"  Do  you  remember  that  diamond  necklace  which  you 
lent  me  to  wear  at  the  ministerial  ball  ?  " 

17 


French  Mystery  Stories 

''Yes.  Well?" 
"  Well,  I  lost  it." 
What  do  you  mean?   You  brought  it  back." 
I  brought  you  back  another  just  like  it.   And  for  this 
we  have  been  ten  years  paying.   You  can  understand  that 
it  was  not  easy  for  us,  us  who  had  nothing.    At  last  it  is 
ended,  and  I  am  very  glad." 
Mme.  Forestier  had  stopped. 
You  say  that  you  bought  a  necklace  of  diamonds  to 
replace  mine  ?  " 

Yes.  You  never  noticed  it,  then !  They  were  very 
like." 

And  she  smiled  with  a  joy  which  was  proud  and  naive  at 
once. 

Mme.  Forestier,  strongly  moved,  took  her  two  hands. 
"  Oh,  my  poor  Mathilde !   Why,  my  necklace  was  paste. 
It  was  worth  at  most  five  hundred  francs ! " 


T/ie  Man  with  the  Pale  Eyes 

Monsieur  Pierre  Agenor  de  Vargnes,  the  Examin- 
ing Magistrate,  was  the  exact  opposite  of  a  practical  joker. 
He  was  dignity,  staidness,  correctness  personified.  As  a 
sedate  man,  he  was  quite  incapable  of  being  guilty,  even 
in  his  dreams,  of  anything  resembling  a  practical  joke, 
however  remotely.  I  know  nobody  to  whom  he  could  be 
compared,  unless  it  be  the  present  president  of  the  French 
Republic.  I  think  it  is  useless  to  carry  the  analogy  any 
further,  and  having  said  thus  much,  it  will  be  easily  under- 
stood that  a  cold  shiver  passed  through  me  when  Monsieur 
Pierre  Agenor  de  Vargnes  did  me  the  honor  of  sending  a 
lady  to  await  on  me. 

At  about  eight  o'clock,  one  morning  last  winter,  as  he 
was  leaving  the  house  to  go  to  the  Palais  de  Justice,  his 
footman  handed  him  a  card,  on  which  was  printed : 

i8 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

Doctor  James  Ferdinand, 
Member  of  the  Academy  of  Medicine, 
Port-au-Prince, 
Chevalier  of  the  Legion  of  Honor, 

At  the  bottom  of  the  card  there  was  written  in  pen- 
cil :  From  Lady  Frogere, 

Monsieur  de  Vargnes  knew  the  lady  very  well,  who  was 
a  very  agreeable  Creole  from  Hayti,  and  whom  he  had  met 
in  many  drawing-rooms,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  though 
the  doctor's  name  did  not  awaken  any  recollections  in  him, 
his  quality  and  titles  alone  required  that  he  should  grant 
him  an  interview,  however  short  it  might  be.  Therefore, 
although  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  out.  Monsieur  de  Varg- 
nes told  the  footman  to  show  in  his  early  visitor,  but  to 
tell  him  beforehand  that  his  master  was  much  pressed  for 
time,  as  he  had  to  go  to  the  Law  Courts. 

When  the  doctor  came  in,  in  spite  of  his  usual  imper- 
turbability, he  could  not  restrain  a  movement  of  surprise, 
for  the  doctor  presented  that  strange  anomaly  of  being  a 
negro  of  the  purest,  blackest  type,  with  the  eyes  of  a  white 
man,  of  a  man  from  the  North,  pale,  cold,  clear,  blue  eyes, 
and  his  surprise  increased,  when,  after  a  few  words  of  ex- 
cuse for  his  untimely  visit,  he  added,  with  an  enigmatical 
smile : 

"  My  eyes  surprise  you,  do  they  not  ?  I  was  sure  that 
they  would,  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  came  here  in  order 
that  you  might  look  at  them  well,  and  never  forget  them." 

His  smile,  and  his  words,  even  more  than  his  smile, 
seemed  to  be  those  of  a  madman.  He  spoke  very  softly, 
with  that  childish,  lisping  voice,  which  is  peculiar  to  ne- 
groes, and  his  mysterious,  almost  menacing  words,  conse- 
quently, sounded  all  the  more  as  if  they  were  uttered  at 
random  by  a  man  bereft  of  his  reason.  But  his  looks,  the 
looks  of  those  pale,  cold,  clear,  blue  eyes,  were  certainly 
not  those  of  a  madman.    They  clearly  expressed  menace, 

19 


French  Mystery  Stories 

yes,  menace,  as  well  as  irony,  and,  above  all,  implacable 
ferocity,  and  their  glance  was  like  a  flash  of  lightning, 
which  one  could  never  forget. 

I  have  seen/'  Monsieur  de  Vargnes  used  to  say,  when 
speaking  about  it,  "  the  looks  of  many  murderers,  but  in 
none  of  them  have  I  ever  observed  such  a  depth  of  crime, 
and  of  impudent  security  in  crime/' 

And  this  impression  was  so  strong,  that  Monsieur  de 
Vargnes  thought  that  he  was  the  sport  of  some  hallucina- 
tion, especially  as  when  he  spoke  about  his  eyes,  the 
doctor  continued  with  a  smile,  and  in  his  most  childish 
accents:  ''Of  course,  Monsieur,  you  cannot  understand 
what  I  am  saying  to  you,  and  I  must  beg  your  pardon  for 
it.  To-morrow  you  will  receive  a  letter  which  will  explain 
it  all  to  you,  but,  first  of  all,  it  was  necessary  that  I  should 
let  you  have  a  good,  a  careful  look  at  my  eyes,  my  eyes, 
which  are  myself,  my  only  and  true  self,  as  you  will  see/' 

With  these  words,  and  with  a  polite  bow,  the  doctor  went 
out,  leaving  Monsieur  de  Vargnes  extremely  surprised,  and 
a  prey  to  this  doubt,  as  he  said  to  himself: 

''  Is  he  merely  a  madman  ?  The  fierce  expression,  and 
the  criminal  depths  of  his  looks  are  perhaps  caused  merely 
by  the  extraordinary  contrast  between  his  fierce  looks  and 
his  pale  eyes/' 

And  absorbed  in  these  thoughts.  Monsieur  de  Vargnes 
unfortunately  allowed  several  minutes  to  elapse,  and  then 
he  thought  to  himself  suddenly: 

"  No,  I  am  not  the  sport  of  any  hallucination,  and  this 
is  no  case  of  an  optical  phenomenon.  This  man  is  evi- 
dently some  terrible  criminal,  and  I  have  altogether  failed 
in  my  duty  in  not  arresting  him  myself  at  once,  illegally, 
even  at  the  risk  of  my  life." 

The  judge  ran  downstairs  in  pursuit  of  the  doctor,  but 
it  was  too  late ;  he  had  disappeared.  In  the  afternoon,  he 
called  on  Madame  Frogere,  to  ask  her  whether  she  could 
tell  him  anything  about  the  matter.  She,  however,  did  not 
know  the  negro  doctor  in  the  least,  and  was  even  able 
to  assure  him  that  he  was  a  fictitious  personage,  for,  as  she 

20 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

was  well  acquainted  with  the  upper  classes  in  Hayti,  she 
knew  that  the  Academy  of  Medicine  at  Port-au-Prince  had 
no  doctor  of  that  name  among  its  members.  As  Monsieur 
de  Vargnes  persisted,  and  gave  descriptions  of  the  doctor, 
especially  mentioning  his  extraordinary  eyes,  Madame  Fro- 
gere  began  to  laugh,  and  said: 

"  You  have  certainly  had  to  do  with  a  hoaxer,  my  dear 
monsieur.  The  eyes  which  you  have  described  are  cer- 
tainly those  of  a  white  man,  and  the  individual  must  have 
been  painted." 

On  thinking  it  over.  Monsieur  de  Vargnes  remembered 
that  the  doctor  had  nothing  of  the  negro  about  him,  but 
his  black  skin,  his  woolly  hair  and  beard,  and  his  way  of 
speaking,  which  was  easily  imitated,  but  nothing  of  the 
negro,  not  even  the  characteristic,  undulating  walk.  Per- 
haps, after  all,  he  was  only  a  practical  joker,  and  during  the 
whole  day.  Monsieur  de  Vargnes  took  refuge  in  that  view, 
which  rather  wounded  his  dignity  as  a  man  of  consequence, 
but  which  appeased  his  scruples  as  a  magistrate. 

The  next  day,  he  received  the  promised  letter,  which  was 
written,  as  well  as  addressed,  in  letters  cut  out  of  the  news- 
papers.   It  was  as  follows: 

Monsieur:  Doctor  James  Ferdinand  does  not  exist, 
but  the  man  whose  eyes  you  saw  does,  and  you  will  cer- 
tainly recognize  his  eyes.  This  man  has  committed  two 
crimes,  for  which  he  does  not  feel  any  remorse,  but,  as 
he  is  a  psychologist,  he  is  afraid  of  some  day  yielding  to 
the  irresistible  temptation  of  confessing  his  crimes.  You 
know  better  than  anyone  (and  that  is  your  most  powerful 
aid),  with  what  imperious  force  criminals,  especially  intel- 
lectual ones,  feel  this  temptation.  That  great  Poet,  Edgar 
Poe,  has  written  masterpieces  on  this  subject,  which  ex- 
press the  truth  exactly,  but  he  has  omitted  to  mention 
the  last  phenomenon,  which  I  will  tell  you.  Yes,  I,  a 
criminal,  feel  a  terrible  wish  for  somebody  to  know  of  my 
crimes,  and  when  this  requirement  is  satisfied,  my  secret 
has  been  revealed  to  a  confidant,  I  shall  be  tranquil  for 

21 


French  Mystery  Stories 

the  future,  and  be  freed  from  this  demon  of  perversity, 
which  only  tempts  us  once.  Well !  Now  that  is  accom- 
plished. You  shall  have  my  secret ;  from  the  day  that  you 
recognize  me  by  my  eyes,  you  will  try  and  find  out  what 
I  am  guilty  of,  and  how  I  was  guilty,  and  you  will  dis- 
cover it,  being  a  master  of  your  profession,  which,  by  the 
by,  has  procured  you  the  honor  of  having  been  chosen 
by  me  to  bear  the  weight  of  this  secret,  which  now  is  shared 
by  us,  and  by  us  two  alone.  I  say,  advisedly,  by  us  two 
alone.  You  could  not,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  prove  the  reality 
of  this  secret  to  anyone,  unless  I  were  to  confess  it,  and 
I  defy  you  to  obtain  my  public  confession,  as  I  have  con- 
fessed it  to  you,  and  without  danger  to  myself  J' 

/  Three  months  later.  Monsieur  de  Vargnes  met  Mon- 
sieur X         at  an  evening  party,  and  at  first  sight,  and 

without  the  slightest  hesitation,  he  recognized  in  him  those 
very  pale,  very  cold,  and  very  clear  blue  eyes,  eyes  which 
it  was  impossible  to  forget. 

The  man  himself  remained  perfectly  impassive,  so  that 
Monsieur  de  Vargnes  was  forced  to  say  to  himself: 

Probably  I  am  the  sport  of  an  hallucination  at  this 
moment,  or  else  there  are  two  pairs  of  eyes  that  are  per- 
fectly similar  in  the  world.  And  what  eyes !  Can  it  be 
possible  ?  " 

The  magistrate  instituted  inquiries  into  his  life,  and  he 
discovered  this,  which  removed  all  his  doubts. 

Five  years  previously.  Monsieur  X  had  been  a  very 

poor,  but  very  brilliant  medical  student,  who,  although  he 
never  took  his  doctor's  degree,  had  already  made  himself 
remarkable  by  his  microbiological  researches. 

A  young  and  very  rich  widow  had  fallen  in  love  with 
him  and  married  him.  She  had  one  child  by  her  first 
marriage,  and  in  the  space  of  six  months,  first  the  child 
and  then  the  mother  died  of  typhoid  fever,  and  thus  Mon- 
sieur X          had  inherited  a  large  fortune,  in  due  form, 

and  without  any  possible  dispute.  Everybody  said  that 
he  had  attended  to  the  two  patients  with  the  utmost  de- 

22 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

votion.  Now,  were  these  two  deaths  the  two  crimes  men- 
tioned in  his  letter? 

But  then,  Monsieur  X  must  have  poisoned  his  two 

victims  with  the  microbes  of  typhoid  fever,  which  he  had 
skillfully  cultivated  in  them,  so  as  to  make  the  disease 
incurable,  even  by  the  most  devoted  care  and  attention. 
Why  not? 

Do  you  beHeve  it?"  I  asked  Monsieur  de  Vargnes. 

"  Absolutely,''  he  replied.  And  the  most  terrible  thing 
about  it  is,  that  the  villain  is  right  when  he  defies  me 
to  force  him  to  confess  his  crime  publicly,  for  I  see  no 
means  of  obtaining  a  confession,  none  whatever.  For  a 
moment,  I  thought  of  magnetism,  but  who  could  magnet- 
ize that  man  with  those  pale,  cold,  bright  eyes?  With 
such  eyes,  he  would  force  the  magnetizer  to  denounce  him- 
self as  the  culprit.'' 

And  then  he  said,  with  a  deep  sigh: 

"Ah!  Formerly  there  was  something  good  about  jus- 
tice!" 

And  when  he  saw  my  inquiring  looks,  he  added  in  a 
firm  and  perfectly  convinced  voice : 

"  Formerly,  justice  had  torture  at  its  command." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  I  replied,  with  all  an  author's  uncon- 
scious and  simple  egotism,  "  it  is  quite  certain  that  without 
the  torture,  this  strange  tale  will  have  no  conclusion,  and 
that  is  very  unfortunate,  as  far  as  regards  the  story  I  in- 
tended to  make  out  of  it." 


TJncomfortable  Bed 

One  autumn  I  went  to  stay  for  the  hunting  season  with 
some  friends  in  a  chateau  in  Picardy. 

My  friends  were  fond  of  practical  joking,  as  all 
my  friends  are.  I  do  not  care  to  know  any  other  sort  of 
people. 

When  I  arrived,  they  gave  me  a  princely  reception, 

23 


French  Mystery  Stories 

which  at  once  aroused  distrust  in  my  breast.  We  had  some 
capital  shooting.  They  embraced  me,  they  cajoled  me,  as 
if  they  expected  to  have  great  fun  at  my  expense. 

I  said  to  myself: 
Look  out,  old  ferret !   They  have  something  in  prepa- 
ration for  you.'' 

During  the  dinner,  the  mirth  was  excessive,  far  too  great, 
in  fact.  I  thought :  Here  are  people  who  take  a  double 
share  of  amusement,  and  apparently  without  reason.  They 
must  be  looking  out  in  their  own  minds  for  some  good  bit 
of  fun.  Assuredly  I  am  to  be  the  victim  of  the  joke.  At- 
tention ! " 

During  the  entire  evening,  everyone  laughed  in  an  ex- 
aggerated fashion.  I  smelled  a  practical  joke  in  the  air, 
as  a  dog  smells  game.  But  what  was  it  ?  I  was  watchful, 
restless.  I  did  not  let  a  word  or  a  meaning  or  a  gesture 
escape  me.  Everyone  seemed  to  me  an  object  of  sus- 
picion, and  I  even  looked  distrustfully  at  the  faces  of  the 
servants. 

The  hour  rang  for  going  to  bed,  and  the  whole  house- 
hold came  to  escort  me  to  my  room.  Why  ?  They  called 
to  me :  Good  night."  I  entered  the  apartment,  shut  the 
door,  and  remained  standing,  without  moving  a  single  step, 
holding  the  wax  candle  in  my  hand. 

I  heard  laughter  and  whispering  in  the  corridor.  With- 
out doubt  they  were  spying  on  me.  I  cast  a  glance  around 
the  walls,  the  furniture,  the  ceiling,  the  hangings,  the  floor. 
I  saw  nothing  to  justify  suspicion.  I  heard  persons  mov- 
ing about  outside  my  door.  I  had  no  doubt  they  were 
looking  through  the  keyhole. 

An  idea  came  into  my  head :  "  My  candle  may  suddenly 
go  out,  and  leave  me  in  darkness." 

Then  I  went  across  to  the  mantelpiece,  and  lighted  all 
the  wax  candles  that  were  on  it.  After  that,  I  cast  another 
glance  around  me  without  discovering  anything.  I  ad- 
vanced with  short  steps,  carefully  examining  the  apartment. 
Nothing.  I  inspected  every  article  one  after  the  othen 
Still  nothing.   I  went  over  to  the  window.   The  shutters, 

24 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

large  wooden  shutters,  were  open.  I  shut  them  with  great 
care,  and  then  drew  the  curtains,  enormous  velvet  cur- 
tains, and  I  placed  a  chair  in  front  of  them,  so  as  to  have 
nothing  to  fear  from  without. 

Then  I  cautiously  sat  down.  The  armchair  was  solid. 
I  did  not  venture  to  get  into  the  bed.  However,  time  was 
flying;  and  I  ended  by  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  I 
was  ridiculous.  If  they  were  spying  on  me,  as  I  supposed, 
they  must,  while  waiting  for  the  success  of  the  joke  they 
had  been  preparing  for  me,  have  been  laughing  enor- 
mously at  my  terror.  So  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  bed. 
But  the  bed  was  particularly  suspicious-looking.  I  pulled 
at  the  curtains.  They  seemed  to  be  secure.  All  the  same, 
there  was  danger.  I  was  going  perhaps  to  receive  a  cold 
shower-bath  from  overhead,  or  perhaps,  the  moment  I 
stretched  myself  out,  to  find  myself  sinking  under  the  floor 
with  my  mattress.  I  searched  in  my  memory  for  all  the 
practical  jokes  of  which  I  ever  had  experience.  And  I 
did  not  want  to  be  caught.  Ah!  certainly  not!  certainly 
not !  Then  I  suddenly  bethought  myself  of  a  precaution 
which  I  consider  one  of  extreme  efficacy:  I  caught  hold 
of  the  side  of  the  mattress  gingerly,  and  very  slowly  drew 
it  toward  me.  It  came  away,  followed  by  the  sheet  and 
the  rest  of  the  bedclothes.  I  dragged  all  these  objects 
into  the  very  middle  of  the  room,  facing  the  entrance 
door.  I  made  my  bed  over  again  as  best  I  could  at  some 
distance  from  the  suspected  bedstead  and  the  corner  which 
had  filled  me  with  such  anxiety.  Then,  I  extinguished  all 
the  candles,  and,  groping  my  way,  I  slipped  under  the 
bedclothes. 

For  at  least  another  hour,  I  remained  awake,  starting  at 
the  slightest  sound.  Everything  seemed  quiet  in  the 
chateau.    I  fell  asleep. 

I  must  have  been  in  a  deep  sleep  for  a  long  time,  but 
all  of  a  sudden,  I  was  awakened  with  a  start  by  the  fall 
of  a  heavy  body  tumbling  right  on  top  of  my  own  body, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  I  received  on  my  face,  on  my  neck, 
and  on  my  chest  a  burning  liquid  which  made  me  utter 

25 


French  Mystery  Stories 

a  howl  of  pain.  And  a  dreadful  noise,  as  if  a  sideboard 
laden  with  plates  and  dishes  had  fallen  down,  penetrated 
my  ears. 

I  felt  myself  suffocating  under  the  weight  that  was 
crushing  me  and  preventing  me  from  moving.  I  stretched 
out  my  hand  to  find  out  what  was  the  nature  of  this  ob- 
ject. I  felt  a  face,  a  nose,  and  whiskers.  Then  with  all 
my  strength  I  launched  out  a  blow  over  this  face.  But  I 
immediately  received  a  hail  of  cuffings  which  made  me 
jump  straight  out  of  the  soaked  sheets,  and  rush  in  my 
nightshirt  into  the  corridor,  the  door  of  which  I  found 
open. 

O  stupor !  it  was  broad  daylight.  The  noise  brought  my 
friends  hurrying  into  the  apartment,  and  we  found,  sprawl- 
ing over  my  improvised  bed,  the  dismayed  valet,  who,  while 
bringing  me  my  morning  cup  of  tea,  had  tripped  over  this 
obstacle  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  fallen  on  his  stom- 
ach, spilling,  in  spite  of  himself,  my  breakfast  over  my 
face. 

The  precautions  I  had  taken  in  closing  the  shutters  and 
going  to  sleep  in  the  middle  of  the  room  had  only  brought 
about  the  interlude  I  had  been  striving  to  avoid. 

Ah  !  how  they  all  laughed  that  day ! 


G/iosfs 

Just  at  the  time  when  the  Concordat  was  in  its  most 
flourishing  condition,  a  young  man  belonging  to  a  wealthy 
and  highly  respected  middle-class  family  went  to  the  office 

of  the  head  of  the  police  at  P  ,  and  begged  for  his  help 

and  advice,  which  was  immediately  promised  him. 

"  My  father  threatens  to  disinherit  me,"  the  young  man 
then  began,  although  I  have  never  offended  against  the 
laws  of  the  State,  of  morality  or  of  his  paternal  authority, 
merely  because  I  do  not  share  his  blind  reverence  for  the 
Catholic  Church  and  her  Ministers.    On  that  account  he 

26 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

looks  upon  me,  not  merely  as  Latitudinarian,  but  as  a  per- 
fect Atheist,  and  a  faithful  old  manservant  of  ours,  who 
is  much  attached  to  me,  and  who  accidentally  saw  my 
father's  will,  told  me  in  confidence  that  he  had  left  all  his 
property  to  the  Jesuits.  I  think  this  is  highly  suspicious, 
and  I  fear  that  the  priests  have  been  maligning  me  to  my 
father.  Until  less  than  a  year  ago,  we  used  to  live  very 
quietly  and  happily  together,  but  ever  since  he  has  had  so 
much  to  do  with  the  clergy,  our  domestic  peace  and  hap- 
piness are  at  an  end." 

"  What  you  have  told  me,"  the  official  replied,  is  as 
likely  as  it  is  regrettable,  but  I  fail  to  see  how  I  can  inter- 
fere in  the  matter.  Your  father  is  in  full  possession  of  all 
his  mental  faculties,  and  can  dispose  of  all  his  property  ex- 
actly as  he  pleases.  I  also  think  that  your  protest  is  prema- 
ture ;  you  must  wait  until  his  will  can  legally  take  effect, 
and  then  you  can  invoke  the  aid  of  justice ;  I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  I  can  do  nothing  for  you." 

I  think  you  will  be  able  to,"  the  young  man  replied ; 
"  for  I  believe  that  a  very  clever  piece  of  deceit  is  being 
carried  on  here." 

"  How  ?  Please  explain  yourself  more  clearly." 
When  I  remonstrated  with  him,  yesterday  evening,  he 
referred  to  my  dead  mother,  and  at  last  assured  me,  in  a 
voice  of  the  deepest  conviction,  that  she  had  frequently 
appeared  to  him,  and  had  threatened  him  with  all  the  tor- 
ments of  the  damned  if  he  did  not  disinherit  his  son,  who 
had  fallen  away  from  God,  and  leave  all  his  property  to  the 
Church.    Now  I  do  not  believe  in  ghosts." 

"  Neither  do  I,"  the  police  director  replied;  "  but  I  cannot 
well  do  anything  on  this  dangerous  ground  if  I  had  nothing 
but  superstitions  to  go  upon.  You  know  how  the  Church 
rules  all  our  affairs  since  the  Concordat  with  Rome,  and  if 
I  investigate  this  matter,  and  obtain  no  results,  I  am  risking 
my  post.  It  would  be  very  different  if  you  could  adduce 
any  proofs  for  your  suspicions.  I  do  not  deny  that  I  should 
like  to  see  the  clerical  party,  which  will,  I  fear,  be  the  ruin 
of  Austria,  receive  a  staggering  blow;  try,  therefore,  to 

27 


French  Mystery  Stories 

get  to  the  bottom  of  this  business,  and  then  we  will  talk 
it  over  again/' 

About  a  month  passed  without  the  young  Latitudinarian 
being  heard  of;  but  then  he  suddenly  came  one  evening, 
evidently  in  a  great  state  of  excitement,  and  told  him  that 
he  was  in  a  position  to  expose  the  priestly  deceit  which 
he  had  mentioned,  if  the  authorities  would  assist  him.  The 
police  director  asked  for  further  information. 

I  have  obtained  a  number  of  important  clews,''  the 
young  man  said.  In  the  first  place,  my  father  confessed 
to  me  that  my  mother  did  not  appear  to  him  in  our  house, 
but  in  the  churchyard  where  she  is  buried.  My  mother 
was  consumptive  for  many  years,  and  a  few  weeks  before 

her  death  she  went  to  the  village  of  S  ,  where  she  died 

and  was  buried.  In  addition  to  this,  I  found  out  from  our 
footman  that  my  father  has  already  left  the  house  twice, 

late  at  night,  in  company  of  X  ,  the  Jesuit  priest,  and 

that  on  both  occasions  he  did  not  return  till  morning.  Each 
time  he  was  remarkably  uneasy  and  low-spirited  after  his 
return,  and  had  three  masses  said  for  my  dead  mother.  He 
also  told  me  just  now  that  he  has  to  leave  home  this  even- 
ing on  business,  but  immediately  he  told  me  that,  our  foot- 
man saw  the  Jesuit  go  out  of  the  house.  We  may,  there- 
fore, assume  that  he  intends  this  evening  to  consult  the 
spirit  of  my  dead  mother  again,  and  this  would  be  an  ex- 
cellent opportunity  for  getting  on  the  track  of  the  matter, 
if  you  do  not  object  to  opposing  the  most  powerful  force 
in  the  Empire,  for  the  sake  of  such  an  insignificant  indi- 
vidual as  myself." 

Every  citizen  has  an  equal  right  to  the  protection  of 
the  State,"  the  police  director  replied;  ''and  I  think  that 
I  have  shown  often  enough  that  I  am  not  wanting  in  cour- 
age to  perform  my  duty,  no  matter  how  serious  the  conse- 
quences may.  be ;  but  only  very  young  men  act  without  any 
prospects  of  success,  as  they  are  carried  away  by  their  feel- 
ings. When  you  came  to  me  the  first  time,  I  was  obliged 
to  refuse  your  request  for  assistance,  but  to-day  your  shares 
have  risen  in  value.    It  is  now  eight  o'clock,  and  I  shall 

28 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Gvty  de  Maupassant 

expect  you  in  two  hours'  time  here  in  my  office.  At  pres- 
ent, all  you  have  to  do  is  to  hold  your  tongue ;  everything 
else  is  my  affair/' 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  four  men  got  into  a  closed  car- 
riage in  the  yard  of  the  police  office,  and  were  driven  in 
the  direction  of  the  village  of  S  ;  their  carriage,  how- 
ever, did  not  enter  the  village,  but  stopped  at  the  edge  of 
a  small  wood  in  the  immediate  neighborhood.  Here  they 
all  four  alighted;  they  were  the  police  director,  accom- 
panied by  the  young  Latitudinarian,  a  pohce  sergeant  and 
an  ordinary  policeman,  who  was,  however,  dressed  in  plain 
clothes. 

The  first  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  examine  the  locality 
carefully,''  the  police  director  said :  it  is  eleven  o'clock 
and  the  exorcisers  of  ghosts  will  not  arrive  before  mid- 
night, so  we  have  time  to  look  round  us,  and  to  take  our 
measure." 

The  four  men  went  to  the  churchyard,  which  lay  at  the 
end  of  the  village,  near  the  little  wood.  Everything  was 
as  still  as  death,  and  not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen.  The  sexton 
was  evidently  sitting  in  the  public  house,  for  they  found 
the  door  of  his  cottage  locked,  as  well  as  the  door  of  the 
little  chapel  that  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  churchyard. 

Where  is  your  mother's  grave  ?  "  the  police  director 
asked ;  but  as  there  were  only  a  few  stars  visible,  it  was  not 
easy  to  find  it,  but  at  last  they  managed  it,  and  the  police 
director  looked  about  in  the  neighborhood  of  it. 

"  The  position  is  not  a  very  favorable  one  for  us,"  he 
said  at  last ;  there  is  nothing  here,  not  even  a  shrub,  be- 
hind which  we  could  hide." 

But  just  then,  the  policeman  said  that  he  had  tried  to 
get  into  the  sexton's  hut  through  the  door  or  the  window, 
and  that  at  last  he  had  succeeded  in  doing  so  by  breaking 
open  a  square  in  a  window,  which  had  been  mended  with 
paper,  and  that  he  had  opened  it  and  obtained  posesssion 
of  the  key  which  he  brought  to  the  police  director. 

His  plans  were  very  quickly  settled.  He  had  the  chapel 
opened  and  went  in  with  the  young  Latitudinarian;  then 

29 


French  Mystery  Stories 

he  told  the  police  sergeant  to  lock  the  door  behind  him 
and  to  put  the  key  back  where  he  had  found  it,  and  to  shut 
the  window  of  the  sexton's  cottage  carefully.  Lastly,  he 
made  arrangements  as  to  what  they  were  to  do  in  case 
anything  unforeseen  should  occur,  whereupon  the  sergeant 
and  the  constable  left  the  churchyard,  and  lay  down  in  a 
ditch  at  some  distance  from  the  gate,  but  opposite  to  it. 

Almost  as  soon  as  the  clock  struck  half-past  eleven,  they 
heard  steps  near  the  chapel,  whereupon  the  police  director 
and  the  young  Latitudinarian  went  to  the  window,  in  order 
to  watch  the  beginning  of  the  exorcism,  and  as  the  chapel 
was  in  total  darkness,  they  thought  that  they  should  be 
able  to  see,  without  being  seen;  but  matters  turned  out 
differently  from  what  they  expected. 

Suddenly,  the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  and  they  barely 
had  time  to  conceal  themselves  behind  the  altar  before  two 
men  came  in,  one  of  whom  was  carrying  a  dark  lantern. 
One  was  the  young  man's  father,  an  elderly  man  of  the 
middle  class,  who  seemed  very  unhappy  and  depressed,  the 

other  the  Jesuit  father  K  ,  a  tall,  thin,  big-boned  man, 

with  a  thin,  bilious  face,  in  which  two  large  gray  eyes  shone 
restlessly  under  their  bushy  black  eyebrows.  He  lit  the 
tapers,  which  were  standing  on  the  altar,  and  then  began  to 
say  a  Requiem  Mass ;  while  the  old  man  knelt  on  the  altar 
steps  and  served  him. 

When  it  was  over,  the  Jesuit  took  the  book  of  the  Gos- 
pels and  the  holy-water  sprinkler,  and  w^ent  slowly  out  of 
the  chapel,  while  the  old  man  followed  him,  with  a  holy- 
water  basin  in  one  hand  and  a  taper  in  the  other.  Then 
the  police  director  left  his  hiding  place,  and  stooping  down, 
so  as  not  to  be  seen,  he  crept  to  the  chapel  window,  where 
he  cowered  down  carefully,  and  the  young  man  followed 
his  example.  They  were  now  looking  straight  on  his 
mother's  grave. 

The  Jesuit,  followed  by  the  superstitious  old  man, 
walked  three  times  round  the  grave,  then  he  remained 
standing  before  it,  and  by  the  hght  of  the  taper  he  read  a 
few  passages  from  the  Gospel ;  then  he  dipped  the  holy- 

30 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

water  sprinkler  three  times  into  the  holy-water  basin,  and 
sprinkled  the  grave  three  times ;  then  both  returned  to  the 
chapel,  knelt  down  outside  it  with  their  faces  toward  the 
grave,  and  began  to  pray  aloud,  until  at  last  the  Jesuit 
sprang  up,  in  a  species  of  wild  ecstasy,  and  cried  out  three 
times  in  a  shrill  voice : 

Exsurge !    Exsurge !   Exsurge ! ^ 

Scarcely  had  the  last  word  of  the  exorcism  died  away 
when  thick,  blue  smoke  rose  out  of  the  grave,  which  rap- 
idly grew  into  a  cloud,  and  began  to  assume  the  outlines 
of  a  human  body,  until  at  last  a  tall,  white  figure  stood 
behind  the  grave,  and  beckoned  with  its  hand. 

"  Who  art  thou  ? the  Jesuit  asked  solemnly,  while  the 
old  man  began  to  cry. 

"  When  I  was  alive,  I  was  called  Anna  Maria  B  

the  ghost  replied  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"Will  you  answer  all  my  questions?"  the  priest  con- 
tinued. 

As  far  as  I  can." 

Have  you  not  yet  been  delivered  from  purgatory  by 
our  prayers,  and  all  the  Masses  for  your  soul,  which  we 
have  said  for  you?  " 

"  Not  yet,  but  soon,  soon  I  shall  be." 

"  When?" 

As  soon  as  that  blasphemer,  my  son,  has  been  pun- 
ished." 

Has  that  not  already  happened  ?    Has  not  your  hus- 
band disinherited  his  lost  son,  and  made  the  Church  his 
heir,  in  his  place  ?  " 
"  That  is  not  enough." 

What  must  he  do  besides?  " 
"  He  must  deposit  his  will  with  the  Judicial  Authorities 
as  his  last  will  and  testament,  and  drive  the  reprobate  out 
of  his  house." 

"  Consider  well  what  you  are  saying ;  must  this  really 
be?" 

"  It  must,  or  otherwise  I  shall  have  to  languish  in  purga- 
1  Arise ! 
31 


French  Mystery  Stories 

tory  much  longer,"  the  sepulchral  voice  replied  with  a  deep 
sigh ;  but  the  next  moment  it  yelled  out  in  terror : — 

Oh!    Good  Lord! and  the  ghost  began  to  run  away 
as  fast  as  it  could.   A  shrill  whistle  was  heard,  and  then  an- 
other, and  the  police  director  laid  his  hand  on  the  shoulder 
of  the  exorciser  accompanied  with  the  remark : — 
"  You  are  in  custody.'' 

Meanwhile,  the  pohce  sergeant  and  the  pohceman,  who 
had  come  into  the  churchyard,  had  caught  the  ghost,  and 
dragged  it  forward.  It  was  the  sexton,  who  had  put  on 
a  flowing,  white  dress,  and  who  wore  a  wax  mask,  which 
bore  striking  resemblance  to  his  mother,  as  the  son  de- 
clared. 

When  the  case  was  heard,  it  was  proved  that  the  mask 
had  been  very  skillfully  made  from  a  portrait  of  the  de- 
ceased woman.  The  Government  gave  orders  that  the 
matter  should  be  investigated  as  secretly  as  possible,  and 
left  the  punishment  of  Father  K  to  the  spiritual  author- 
ities, which  was  a  matter  of  course,  at  a  time  when  priests 
were  outside  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Civil  Authorities;  and 
it  is  needless  to  say  that  he  was  very  comfortable  during  • 
his  imprisonment,  in  a  monastery  in  a  part  of  the  country 
which  abounded  with  game  and  trout. 

The  only  valuable  result  of  the  amusing  ghost  story  w^as 
that  it  brought  about  a  reconciliation  between  father  and 
son,  and  the  former,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  felt  such  deep 
respect  for  priests  and  their  ghosts  in  consequence  of  the 
apparition  that  a  short  time  after  his  wife  had  left  purgatory 
for  the  last  time  in  order  to  talk  with  him  —  he  turned 
Protestant. 

Fear 

We  went  up  on  deck  after  dinner.  Before  us  the  Med- 
iterranean lay  without  a  ripple  and  shimmering  in  the 
moonlight.  The  great  ship  glided  on,  casting  upward 
to  the  star-studded  sky  a  long  serpent  of  black  smoke. 

32 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

Behind  us  the  dazzHng  white  water,  stirred  by  the  rapid 
progress  of  the  heavy  bark  and  beaten  by  the  propeller, 
foamed,  seemed  to  writhe,  gave  off  so  much  brilliancy  that 
one  could  have  called  it  boiling  moonlight. 

There  were  six  or  eight  of  us  silent  with  admiration  and 
gazing  toward  far-away  Africa  whither  we  w^ere  going.  The 
commandant,  who  was  smoking  a  cigar  with  us,  brusquely 
resumed  the  conversation  begun  at  dinner. 

"  Yes,  I  was  afraid  then.  My  ship  remained  for  six 
hours  on  that  rock,  beaten  by  the  wind  and  with  a  great 
hole  in  the  side.  Luckily  we  were  picked  up  toward  even- 
ing by  an  English  coaler  which  sighted  us.'' 

Then  a  tall  man  of  sunburned  face  and  grave  demeanor, 
one  of  those  men  who  have  evidently  traveled  unknown 
and  far-away  lands,  whose  calm  eye  seems  to  preserve  in 
its  depths  something  of  the  foreign  scenes  it  has  observed, 
a  man  that  you  are  sure  is  impregnated  with  courage, 
spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"  You  say,  commandant,  that  you  were  afraid.  I  beg 
to  disagree  with  you.  You  are  in  error  as  to  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word  and  the  nature  of  the  sensation  that  you 
experienced.  An  energetic  man  is  never  afraid  in  the 
presence  of  urgent  danger.  He  is  excited,  aroused,  full  of 
anxiety,  but  fear  is  something  quite  different.'' 

The  commandant  laughed  and  answered :  Bah  !  I  as- 
sure you  that  I  was  afraid." 

Then  the  man  of  the  tanned  countenance  addressed  us 
deliberately  as  follows : 

"  Permit  me  to  explain.  Fear — and  the  boldest  men  may 
feel  fear — is  something  horrible,  an  atrocious  sensation,  a 
sort  of  decomposition  of  the  soul,  a  terrible  spasm  of  brain 
and  heart,  the  very  memory  of  which  brings  a  shudder 
of  anguish,  but  when  one  is  brave  he  feels  it  neither  un- 
der fire  nor  in  the  presence  of  sure  death  nor  in  the  face 
of  any  well-known  danger.  It  springs  up  under  certain 
abnormal  conditions,  under  certain  mysterious  influences 
in  the  presence  of  vague  peril.  Real  fear  is  a  sort  of  remi- 
niscence of  fantastic  terror  of  the  past.  A  man  who  believes 

33 


French  Mystery  Stories 

in  ghosts  and  imagines  he  sees  a  specter  in  the  darkness 
must  feel  fear  in  all  its  horror. 

As  for  me  I  was  overwhelmed  with  fear  in  broad  day- 
light about  ten  years  ago  and  again  one  December  night 
last  winter. 

"  Nevertheless,  I  have  gone  through  many  dangers, 
many  adventures  which  seemed  to  promise  death.  I  have 
often  been  in  battle.  I  have  been  left  for  dead  by  thieves. 
In  America  I  was  condemned  as  an  insurgent  to  be  hanged, 
and  off  the  coast  of  China  have  been  thrown  into  the  sea 
from  the  deck  of  a  ship.  Each  time  I  thought  I  was  lost 
I  at  once  decided  upon  my  course  of  action  without  re- 
gret or  weakness. 
That  is  not  fear. 

"  I  have  felt  it  in  Africa,  and  yet  it  is  a  child  of  the 
north.  The  sunlight  banishes  it  like  the  mist.  Consider 
this  fact,  gentlemen.  Among  the  Orientals  life  has  no 
value ;  resignation  is  natural.  The  nights  are  clear  and 
empty  of  the  somber  spirit  of  unrest  which  haunts  the 
brain  in  cooler  lands.  In  the  Orient  panic  is  known,  but 
not  fear. 

Well,  then !  Here  is  the  incident  that  befell  me  in 
Africa. 

I  was  crossing  the  great  sands  to  the  south  of  Onargla. 
It  is  one  of  the  most  curious  districts  in  the  world.  You 
have  seen  the  solid  continuous  sand  of  the  endless  ocean 
strands.  Well,  imagine  the  ocean  itself  turned  to  sand  in 
the  midst  of  a  storm.  Imagine  a  silent  tempest  with  mo- 
tionless billows  of  yellow  dust.  They  are  high  as  moun- 
tains, these  uneven,  varied  surges,  rising  exactly  like  un- 
chained billows,  but  still  larger,  and  stratified  like  watered 
silk.  On  this  wild,  silent,  and  motionless  sea,  the  con- 
suming rays  of  the  tropical  sun  are  poured  pitilessly  and 
directly.  You  have  to  climb  these  streaks  of  red-hot  ash, 
descend  again  on  the  other  side,  climb  again,  climb,  climb 
without  halt,  without  repose,  without  shade.  The  horses 
cough,  sink  to  their  knees  and  slide  down  the  sides  of 
these  remarkable  hills. 

34 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

"  We  were  a  couple  of  friends  followed  by  eight  spahis 
and  four  camels  with  their  drivers.  We  were  no  longer 
talking,  overcome  by  heat,  fatigue,  and  a  thirst  such  as  had 
produced  this  burning  desert.  Suddenly  one  of  our  men 
uttered  a  cry.  We  all  halted,  surprised  by  an  unsolved 
phenomenon  known  only  to  travelers  in  these  trackless 
wastes. 

"  Somewhere,  near  us,  in  an  indeterminable  direction,  a 
drum  was  rolling,  the  mysterious  drum  of  the  sands.  It 
was  beating  distinctly,  now  with  greater  resonance  and 
again  feebler,  ceasing,  then  resuming  its  uncanny  roll. 

"  The  Arabs,  terrified,  stared  at  one  another,  and  one 
said  in  his  language:  '  Death  is  upon  us.'  As  he  spoke,  my 
companion,  my  friend,  almost  a  brother,  dropped  from  his 
horse,  falling  face  downward  on  the  sand,  overcome  by  a 
sunstroke. 

And  for  two  hours,  while  I  tried  in  vain  to  save  him, 
this  weird  drum  filled  my  ears  with  its  monotonous,  inter- 
mittent and  incomprehensible  tone,  and  I  felt  lay  hold  of 
my  bones  fear,  real  fear,  hideous  fear,  in  the  presence  of 
this  beloved  corpse,  in  this  hole  scorched  by  the  sun,  sur- 
rounded by  four  mountains  of  sand,  and  two  hundred 
leagues  from  any  French  settlement,  while  echo  assailed 
our  ears  with  this  furious  drum  beat. 

On  that  day  I  realized  what  fear  was,  but  since  then 

I  have  had  another,  and  still  more  vivid  experience  

The  commandant  interrupted  the  speaker: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  what  was  the  drum  ? 

The  traveler  replied : 

"  I  cannot  say.  No  one  knows.  Our  officers  are  often 
surprised  by  this  singular  noise  and  attribute  it  generally 
to  the  echo  produced  by  a  hail  of  grains  of  sand  blown 
by  the  wind  against  the  dry  and  brittle  leaves  of  weeds, 
for  it  has  always  been  noticed  that  the  phenomenon  oc- 
curs in  proximity  to  little  plants  burned  by  the  sun  and 
hard  as  parchment.  This  sound  seems  to  have  been  mag- 
nified, multiplied,  and  swelled  beyond  measure  in  its 
progress  through  the  valleys  of  sand,  and  the  drum  there- 

35 


French  Mystery  Stories 

fore  might  be  considered  a  sort  of  sound  mirage.  Noth- 
ing more.  But  I  did  not  know  that  until  later. 
I  shall  proceed  to  my  second  instance. 
It  was  last  winter,  in  a  forest  of  the  Northeast  of 
France.  The  sky  was  so  overcast  that  night  came  two 
hours  earlier  than  usual.  My  guide  was  a  peasant  who 
walked  beside  me  along  the  narrow  road,  under  the  vault 
of  fir  trees,  through  which  the  wind  in  its  fury  howled. 
Between  the  tree  tops,  I  saw  the  fleeting  clouds,  which 
seemed  to  hasten  as  if  to  escape  some  object  of  terror. 
Sometimes  in  a  fierce  gust  of  wind  the  whole  forest  bowed 
in  the  same  direction  with  a  groan  of  pain,  and  a  chill 
laid  hold  of  me,  despite  my  rapid  pace  and  heavy  clothing. 

"  We  were  to  sup  and  sleep  at  an  old  gamekeeper's 
house  not  much  farther  on.    I  had  come  out  for  hunting. 

"  My  guide  sometimes  raised  his  eyes  and  murmured : 
*  Ugly  weather ! '  Then  he  told  me  about  the  people 
among  whom  we  were  to  spend  the  night.  The  father 
had  killed  a  poacher,  two  years  before,  and  since  then 
had  been  gloomy  and  behaved  as  though  haunted  by  a 
memory.  His  two  sons  were  married  and  lived  with 
him. 

"  The  darkness  was  profound.  I  could  see  nothing  be- 
fore me  nor  around  me  and  the  mass  of  overhanging  in- 
terlacing trees  rubbed  together,  filling  the  night  with  an 
incessant  whispering.  Finally  I  saw  a  light  and  soon  my 
companion  was  knocking  upon  a  door.  Sharp  women's 
voices  answered  us,  then  a  man's  voice,  a  choking  voice, 
asked,  *  Who  goes  there  ?  '  My  guide  gave  his  name.  We 
entered  and  beheld  a  memorable  picture. 

An  old  man  with  white  hair,  wild  eyes,  and  a  loaded 
gun  in  his  hands,  stood  waiting  for  us  in  the  middle  of 
the  kitchen,  while  two  stalwart  youths,  armed  with  axes, 
guarded  the  door.  In  the  somber  corners  I  distinguished 
two  women  kneeling  with  faces  to  the  wall. 

"  Matters  were  explained,  and  the  old  man  stood  his 
gun  against  the  wall,  at  the  same  time  ordering  that  a 
room  be  prepared  for  me.    Then,  as  the  women  did  not 

36 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

stir :  '  Look  you,  monsieur/  said  he,  '  two  years  ago  this 
night  I  killed  a  man,  and  last  year  he  came  back  to  haunt 
me.    I  expect  him  again  to-night/ 

"  Then  he  added  in  a  tone  that  made  me  smile: 

'  And  so  we  are  somewhat  excited.' 

I  reassured  him  as  best  I  could,  happy  to  have  arrived 
on  that  particular  evening  and  to  witness  this  supersti- 
tious terror.  I  told  stories  and  almost  succeeded  in  calm- 
ing the  whole  household. 

"  Near  the  fireplace  slept  an  old  dog,  mustached  and 
almost  blind,  with  his  head  between  his  paws,  such  a  dog 
as  reminds  you  of  people  you  have  known. 

Outside,  the  raging  storm  was  beating  against  the  little 
house,  and  suddenly  through  a  small  pane  of  glass,  a  sort 
of  peep-window  placed  near  the  door,  I  saw  in  a  brilliant 
flash  of  lightning  a  whole  mass  of  trees  thrashed  by  the 
wind. 

In  spite  of  my  efforts,  I  realized  that  terror  was  lay- 
ing hold  of  these  people,  and  each  time  that  I  ceased  to 
speak,  all  ears  listened  for  distant  sounds.  Annoyed  at 
these  foolish  fears,  I  was  about  to  retire  to  my  bed,  when 
the  old  gamekeeper  suddenly  leaped  from  his  chair,  seized 
his  gun  and  stammered  wildly :  '  There  he  is,  there  he  is ! 
I  hear  him  ! '  The  two  women  again  sank  upon  their  knees 
in  the  corner  and  hid  their  faces,  while  the  sons  took  up 
the  axes.  I  was  going  to  try  to  pacify  them  once  more, 
when  the  sleeping  dog  awakened  suddenly  and,  raising 
his  head  and  stretching  his  neck,  looked  at  the  fire  with 
his  dim  eyes  and  uttered  one  of  those  mournful  howls 
which  make  travelers  shudder  in  the  darkness  and  soli- 
tude of  the  country.  All  eyes  were  focused  upon  him  now 
as  he  rose  on  his  front  feet,  as  though  haunted  by  a  vision, 
and  began  to  howl  at  something  invisible,  unknown,  and 
doubtless  horrible,  for  he  was  bristling  all  over.  The 
gamekeeper  with  livid  face  cried:  *  He  scents  him!  He 
scents  him !  He  was  there  when  I  killed  him/  The  two 
women,  terrified,  began  to  wail  in  concert  with  the  dog. 
"  In  spite  of  myself,  cold  chills  ran  down  my  spine.  This 

37 


French  Mystery  Stories 

vision  of  the  animal  at  such  a  time  and  place,  in  the  midst 
of  these  startled  people,  was  something  frightful  to  witness. 

Then  for  an  hour  the  dog  howled  without  stirring ;  he 
howled  as  though  in  the  anguish  of  a  nightmare ;  and  fear, 
horrible  fear  came  over  me.  Fear  of  what?  How  can  I 
say?    It  was  fear,  and  that  is  all  I  know. 

We  remained  motionless  and  pale,  expecting  some- 
thing aw^ful  to  happen.  Our  ears  were  strained  and  our 
hearts  beat  loudly  while  the  slightest  noise  startled  us. 
Then  the  beast  began  to  walk  around  the  room,  sniffing 
at  the  walls  and  growling  constantly.  His  maneuvers  were 
driving  us  mad !  Then  the  countryman,  who  had  brought 
me  thither,  in  a  paroxysm  of  rage,  seized  the  dog,  and 
carrying  him  to  a  door,  which  opened  into  a  small  court, 
thrust  him  forth. 

The  noise  was  suppressed  and  we  were  left  plunged 
in  a  silence  still  more  terrible.  Then  suddenly  we  all 
started.  Some  one  was  gliding  along  the  outside  wall 
tow^ard  the  forest;  then  he  seemed  to  be  feeling  of  the 
door  with  a  trembling  hand;  then  for  two  minutes  noth- 
ing was  heard  and  we  almost  lost  our  minds.  Then  he 
returned,  still  feeling  along  the  wall,  and  scratched  lightly 
upon  the  door  as  a  child  might  do  with  his  finger  nails. 
Suddenly  a  face  appeared  behind  the  glass  of  the  peep- 
window,  a  white  face  with  eyes  shining  like  those  of  the  cat 
tribe.   A  sound  was  heard,  an  indistinct  plaintive  murmur. 

Then  there  was  a  formidable  burst  of  noise  in  the 
kitchen.  The  old  gamekeeper  had  fired  and  the  two  sons 
at  once  rushed  forward  and  barricaded  the  window  with 
the  great  table,  reinforcing  it  with  the  buffet. 

I  swear  to  you  that  at  the  shock  of  the  gun's  discharge, 
which  I  did  not  expect,  such  an  anguish  laid  hold  of  my 
heart,  my  soul,  and  my  very  body  that  I  felt  myself  about 
to  fall,  about  to  die  from  fear. 

We  remained  there  until  dawn,  unable  to  move,  in 
short,  seized  by  an  indescribable  numbness  of  the  brain. 

"  No  one  dared  to  remove  the  barricade  until  a  thin  ray 
of  sunlight  appeared  through  a  crack  in  the  back  room. 

38 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

At  the  base  of  the  wall  and  under  the  window,  we 
found  the  old  dog  lying  dead,  his  skull  shattered  by  a  ball. 

He  had  escaped  from  the  little  court  by  digging  a  hole 
under  a  fence/' 

The  dark-visaged  man  became  silent,  then  he  added : 
"  And  yet  on  that  night  I  incurred  no  danger,  but  I 
should  rather  again  pass  through  all  the  hours  in  which  I 
have  confronted  the  most  terrible  perils  than  the  one 
minute  when  that  gun  was  discharged  at  the  bearded  head 
in  the  window/' 


The  Confession 

Marguerite  de  Therelles  was  dying.  Although  but 
fifty-six,  she  seemed  like  seventy-five  at  least.  She  panted, 
paler  than  the  sheets,  shaken  by  dreadful  shiverings,  her 
face  convulsed,  her  eyes  haggard,  as  if  she  had  seen  some 
horrible  thing. 

Her  eldest  sister,  Suzanne,  six  years  older,  sobbed  on 
her  knees  beside  the  bed.  A  little  table  drawn  close  to 
the  couch  of  the  dying  woman,  and  covered  with  a  nap- 
kin, bore  two  lighted  candles,  the  priest  being  momentarily 
expected  to  give  extreme  unction  and  the  communion^ 
which  should  be  the  last. 

The  apartment  had  that  sinister  aspect,  that  air  of  hope- 
less farewells,  which  belongs  to  the  chambers  of  the  dying. 
Medicine  bottles  stood  about  on  the  furniture,  linen  lay 
in  the  corners,  pushed  aside  by  foot  or  broom.  The  dis- 
ordered chairs  themselves  seemed  afifrighted,  as  if  they  had 
run,  in  all  the  senses  of  the  word.  Death,  the  formidable, 
was  there,  hidden,  waiting. 

The  story  of  the  two  sisters  was  very  touching.  It  was 
quoted  far  and  wide ;  it  had  made  many  eyes  to  weep. 

Suzanne,  the  elder,  had  once  been  madly  in  love  with 
a  young  man,  who  had  also  been  in  love  with  her.  They 
were  engaged,  and  were  only  waiting  the  day  fixed  for  the 
contract,  when  Henry  de  Lampierre  suddenly  died. 

39 


French  Mystery  Stories 

The  despair  of  the  young  girl  was  dreadful,  and  she 
vowed  that  she  would  never  marry.  She  kept  her 
word.  She  put  on  widow's  weeds,  which  she  never  took 
off. 

Then  her  sister,  her  little  sister  Marguerite,  who  was 
only  twelve  years  old,  came  one  morning  to  throw  herself 
into  the  arms  of  the  elder,  and  said :  Big  Sister,  I  do  not 
want  thee  to  be  unhappy.  I  do  not  want  thee  to  cry  all 
thy  life.  I  will  never  leave  thee,  never,  never!  I — I,  too, 
shall  never  marry.  I  shall  stay  with  thee  always,  always, 
always !  " 

Suzanne,  touched  by  the  devotion  of  the  child,  kissed 
her,  but  did  not  believe. 

Yet  the  little  one,  also,  kept  her  word,  and  despite  the 
entreaties  of  her  parents,  despite  the  supplications  of  the 
elder,  she  never  married.  She  was  pretty,  very  pretty ;  she 
refused  many  a  young  man  who  seemed  to  love  her  truly ; 
and  she  never  left  her  sister  more. 

They  lived  together  all  the  days  of  their  life,  without  ever 
being  separated  a  single  time.  They  went  side  by  side,  in- 
separably united.  But  Marguerite  seemed  always  sad,  op- 
pressed, more  melancholy  than  the  elder,  as  though  per- 
haps her  sublime  sacrifice  had  broken  her  spirit.  She  aged 
more  quickly,  had  white  hair  from  the  age  of  thirty,  and 
often  suffering,  seemed  afflicted  by  some  secret,  gnawing 
trouble. 

Now  she  was  to  be  the  first  to  die. 

Since  yesterday  she  was  no  longer  able  to  speak.  She 
had  only  said,  at  the  first  glimmers  of  day-dawn: 

Go  fetch  Monsieur  le  Cure,  the  moment  has  come.'' 

And  she  had  remained  since  then  upon  her  back,  shaken 
with  spasms,  her  lips  agitated  as  though  dreadful  words 
were  mounting  from  her  heart  without  power  of  issue,  her 
look  mad  with  fear,  terrible  to  see. 

Her  sister,  torn  by  sorrow,  wept  wildly,  her  forehead 
resting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  kept  repeating: 

"  Margot,  my  poor  Margot,  my  little  one ! 

40 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

She  had  always  called  her,  "  Little  One,"  just  as  the 
younger  had  always  called  her  "  Big  Sister/' 

Steps  were  heard  on  the  stairs.  The  door  opened.  A 
choir  boy  appeared,  followed  by  an  old  priest  in  a  surplice. 
As  soon  as  she  perceived  him,  the  dying  woman,  with  one 
shudder,  sat  up,  opened  her  lips,  stammered  two  or  three 
words,  and  began  to  scratch  the  sheets  with  her  nails  as 
if  she  had  wished  to  make  a  hole. 

The  Abbe  Simon  approached,  took  her  hand,  kissed  her 
brow,  and  wnth  a  soft  voice : 

"  God  pardon  thee,  my  child ;  have  courage,  the  moment 
is  now  come,  speak." 

Then  Marguerite,  shivering  from  head  to  foot,  shaking 
her  whole  couch  with  nervous  movements,  stammered : 
Sit  down,  Big  Sister  .  .  .  listen.'' 

The  priest  bent  down  toward  Suzanne,  who  was  still 
flung  upon  the  bed's  foot.  He  raised  her,  placed  her  in 
an  armchair,  and  taking  a  hand  of  each  of  the  sisters  in 
one  of  his  own^  he  pronounced : 

Lord,  my  God !  Endue  them  with  strength,  cast  Thy 
mercy  upon  them." 

And  Marguerite  began  to  speak.  The  words  issued 
from  her  throat  one  by  one,  raucous,  with  sharp  pauses,  as 
though  very  feeble. 

"  Pardon,  pardon.  Big  Sister ;  oh,  forgive !  If  thou 
knewest  how  I  have  had  fear  of  this  moment  all  my 
life  .  .  ." 

Suzanne  stammered  through  her  tears: 
Forgive  thee  what.  Little  One  ?    Thou  hast  given  all 
to  me,  sacrificed  everything;  thou  art  an  angel  .  .  ." 
But  Marguerite  interrupted  her: 

"  Hush,  hush !  Let  me  speak  ...  do  not  stop  me.  It 
is  dreadful  ...  let  me  tell  all  .  .  .  to  the  very  end,  with- 
out flinching.  Listen.  Thou  rememberest  .  .  .  thou  re- 
memberest  .  .  .  Henry  .  .  ." 

Suzanne  trembled  and  looked  at  her  sister.  The  younger 
continued : 

41 


French  Mystery  Stories 

"  Thou  must  hear  all,  to  understand.  I  was  twelve  years 
old,  only  twelve  years  old ;  thou  rememberest  well,  is  it  not 
so?  And  I  was  spoiled,  I  did  everything  that  I  liked! 
Thou  rememberest,  surely,  how  they  spoiled  me?  Listen. 
The  first  time  that  he  came  he  had  varnished  boots.  He 
got  down  from  his  horse  at  the  great  steps,  and  he  begged 
pardon  for  his  costume,  but  he  came  to  bring  some  news 
to  papa.  Thou  rememberest,  is  it  not  so?  Don't  speak — 
listen.  When  I  saw  him  I  was  completely  carried  away,  I 
found  him  so  very  beautiful;  and  I  remained  standing  in 
a  corner  of  the  salon  all  the  time  that  he  was  talking.  Chil- 
dren are  strange  .  .  .  and  terrible.  Oh  yes  ...  I  have 
dreamed  of  all  that. 

^'  He  came  back  again  .  .  .  several  times  ...  I  looked 
at  him  with  all  my  eyes,  with  all  my  soul  ...  I  was  large 
of  my  age  .  .  .  and  very  much  more  knowing  than  any- 
one thought.  He  came  back  often  ...  I  thought  only  of 
him.    I  said,  very  low : 

"  '  Henry  .  .  .  Henry  de  Lampierre ! ' 

"  Then  they  said  that  he  was  going  to  marry  thee.  It 
was  a  sorrow ;  oh,  Big  Sister,  a  sorrow  ...  a  sorrow !  I 
cried  for  three  nights  without  sleeping.  He  came  back 
every  day,  in  the  afternoon,  after  his  lunch  .  .  .  thou  re- 
memberest, is  it  not  so?  Say  nothing  .  .  .  listen.  Thou 
madest  him  cakes  which  he  liked  .  .  .  with  meal,  with  but- 
ter and  milk,  Oh,  I  know  well  how.  I  could  make  them 
yet  if  it  were  needed.  He  ate  them  at  one  mouthful,  and 
.  .  .  and  then  he  drank  a  glass  of  wine,  and  then  he  said, 
*  It  is  delicious.'  Thou  rememberest  how  he  would  say 
that? 

I  was  jealous,  jealous !  The  moment  of  thy  marriage 
approached.  There  were  only  two  weeks  more.  I  became 
crazy.  I  said  to  myself :  '  He  shall  not  marry  Suzanne,  no, 
I  will  not  have  it !  It  is  I  whom  he  will  marry  when  I  am 
grown  up.  I  shall  never  find  anyone  whom  I  love  so 
much.'  But  one  night,  ten  days  before  the  contract,  thou 
tookest  a  walk  with  him  in  front  of  the  chateau  by  moon- 
light .  .  .  and  there  .  .  .  under  the  fir^  under  the  great 

42 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Gny  de  Maupassant 

fir  ...  he  kissed  thee  .  .  .  kissed  .  .  .  holding  thee  in 
his  two  arms  ...  so  long.  Thou  rememberest,  is  it  not 
so?  It  was  probably  the  first  time  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  Thou 
wast  so  pale  when  thou  camest  back  to  the  salon, 

I  had  seen  you  two ;  I  was  there,  in  the  shrubbery.  I 
was  angry!    If  I  could  I  should  have  killed  you  both! 

"  I  said  to  myself:  ^  He  shall  not  marry  Suzanne,  never! 
He  shall  marry  no  one.  I  should  be  too  unhappy.'  And 
all  of  a  sudden  I  began  to  hate  him  dreadfully. 

Then,  dost  thou  know  what  I  did  ?  Listen.  I  had  seen 
the  gardener  making  little  balls  to  kill  strange  dogs.  He 
pounded  up  a  bottle  with  a  stone  and  put  the  powdered 
glass  in  a  little  ball  of  meat. 

I  took  a  little  medicine  bottle  that  mamma  had ;  I  broke 
it  small  with  a  hammer,  and  I  hid  the  glass  in  my  pocket. 
It  was  a  shining  powder  .  .  .  The  next  day,  as  soon  as 
you  had  made  the  little  cakes  ...  I  split  them  with  a 
knife  and  I  put  in  the  glass  .  .  .  He  ate  three  of  them  .  .  . 
I  too,  I  ate  one  ...  I  threw  the  other  six  into  the  pond. 
The  two  swans  died  three  days  after  .  .  .  Dost  thou  re- 
member? Oh,  say  nothing  .  .  .  listen,  Hsten.  I,  I  alone 
did  not  die  .  .  .  but  I  have  always  been  sick.  Listen  .  .  . 
He  died — thou  knowest  well  .  .  .  listen  .  .  .  that,  that  is 
nothing.  It  is  afterwards,  later  .  .  .  always  .  .  .  the  worst 
•  .  .  listen. 

"  My  Hfe,  all  my  life  .  .  .  what  torture !  I  said  to  my- 
self :  ^  I  will  never  leave  my  sister.  And  at  the  hour  of 
death  I  will  tell  her  all  .  .  There !  And  ever  since,  I 
have  always  thought  of  that  moment  when  I  should  tell 
thee  all.  Now  it  is  come.  It  is  terrible.  Oh  .  .  .  Big 
Sister ! 

I  have  always  thought,  morning  and  evening,  by  night 
and  by  day,  *  Some  time  I  must  tell  her  that  .  .  I 
waited  .  .  .  What  agony!  ...  It  is  done.  Say  nothing. 
Now  I  am  afraid  ...  am  afraid  ...  oh,  I  am  afraid.  If 
I  am  going  to  see  him  again,  soon,  when  I  am  dead.  See 
him  again  .  .  .  think  of  it!  The  first!  Before  thou!  I 
shall  not  dare.    I  must  ...  I  am  going  to  die  ...  I  want 

43 


French  Mystery  Stories 

you  to  forgive  me.  I  want  it  ...  I  cannot  go  off  to  meet 
him  without  that.  Oh,  tell  her  to  forgive  me,  Monsieur 
le  Cure,  tell  her  ...  I  implore  you  to  do  it.  I  cannot  die 
without  that  .  . 

She  was  silent,  and  remained  panting,  always  scratching 
the  sheet  with  her  withered  nails. 

Suzanne  had  hidden  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  did  not 
move.  She  was  thinking  of  him  whom  she  might  have 
loved  so  long!  What  a  good  Hfe  they  should  have  lived 
together!  She  saw  him  once  again  in  that  vanished  by- 
gone time,  in  that  old  past  which  was  put  out  forever.  The 
beloved  dead — how  they  tear  your  hearts !  Oh,  that  kiss, 
his  only  kiss !  She  had  hidden  it  in  her  soul.  And  after 
it  nothing,  nothing  more  her  whole  life  long! 

All  of  a  sudden  the  priest  stood  straight,  and,  with  a 
strong  vibrant  voice,  he  cried : 

"  Mademoiselle  Suzanne,  your  sister  is  dying!  " 

Then  Suzanne,  opening  her  hands,  showed  her  face 
soaked  with  tears,  and  throwing  herself  upon  her  sister, 
she  kissed  her  with  all  her  might,  stammering  : 
I  forgive  thee,  I  forgive  thee,  Little  One.'' 


T/ie  Hor/a,  or  Modern  Ghosts 

May  8th,  What  a  lovely  day!  I  have  spent  all  the 
morning  lying  in  the  grass  in  front  of  my  house,  under 
the  enormous  plantain  tree  which  covers  it,  and  shades 
and  shelters  the  whole  of  it.  I  like  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try and  I  am  fond  of  living  here  because  I  am  attached 
to  it  by  deep  roots,  profound  and  dehcate  roots  which 
attach  a  man  to  the  soil  on  which  his  ancestors  were  born 
and  died,  which  attach  him  to  what  people  think  and  what 
they  eat,  to  the  usages  as  well  as  to  the  food,  local  ex- 
pressions, the  pecuHar  language  of  the  peasants,  to  the 

44 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

smell  of  the  soil,  of  the  villages  and  of  the  atmosphere 
itself. 

I  love  my  house  in  which  I  grew  up.  From  my  win- 
dows I  can  see  the  Seine  which  flows  by  the  side  of  my 
garden,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  almost  through  my 
grounds,  the  great  and  wide  Seine,  which  goes  to  Rouen 
and  Havre,  and  which  is  covered  with  boats  passing  to 
and  fro. 

On  the  left,  down  yonder,  lies  Rouen,  that  large  town 
with  its  blue  roofs,  under  its  pointed  Gothic  towers.  They 
are  innumerable,  deHcate  or  broad,  dominated  by  the  spire 
of  the  cathedral,  and  full  of  bells  which  sound  through  the 
blue  air  on  fine  mornings,  sending  their  sweet  and  distant 
iron  clang  to  me;  their  metallic  sound  which  the  breeze 
wafts  in  my  direction,  now  stronger  and  now  weaker,  ac- 
cording as  the  wind  is  stronger  or  lighter. 

What  a  delicious  morning  it  was! 

About  eleven  o'clock,  a  long  line  of  boats  drawn  by  a 
steam  tug,  as  big  as  a  fly,  and  which  scarcely  pufifed  while 
emitting  its  thick  smoke,  passed  my  gate. 

After  two  English  schooners,  whose  red  flag  fluttered 
toward  the  sky,  there  came  a  magnificent  Brazilian  three- 
master;  it  was  perfectly  white  and  wonderfully  clean  and 
shining.  I  saluted  it,  I  hardly  know  why,  except  that  the 
sight  of  the  vessel  gave  me  great  pleasure. 

May  I2th,  I  have  had  a  slight  feverish  attack  for  the 
last  few  days,  and  I  feel  ill,  or  rather  I  feel  low-spirited. 

Whence  do  these  mysterious  influences  come,  which 
change  our  happiness  into  discouragement,  and  our  self- 
confidence  into  diffidence?  One  might  almost  say  that  the 
air,  the  invisible  air  is  full  of  unknowable  Forces,  whose 
mysterious  presence  we  have  to  endure.  I  wake  up  in  the 
best  spirits,  with  an  inclination  to  sing  in  my  throat.  Why? 
I  go  down  by  the  side  of  the  water,  and  suddenly,  after 
walking  a  short  distance,  I  return  home  wretched,  as  if 
some  misfortune  were  awaiting  me  there.  Why?  Is  it 
a  cold  shiver  which,  passing  over  my  skin,  has  upset  my 
nerves  and  given  me  low  spirits?    Is  it  the  form  of  the 

45 


French  Mystery  Stories 

clouds,  or  the  color  of  the  sky,  or  the  color  of  the  sur- 
rounding objects  which  is  so  changeable,  which  have 
troubled  my  thoughts  as  they  passed  before  my  eyes  ?  Who 
can  tell?  Everything  that  surrounds  us,  everything  that 
we  see  without  looking  at  it,  everything  that  we  touch 
without  knowing  it,  everything  that  we  handle  without  feel- 
ing it,  all  that  we  meet  without  clearly  distinguishing  it, 
has  a  rapid,  surprising  and  inexplicable  effect  upon  us  and 
upon  our  organs,  and  through  them  on  our  ideas  and 
on  our  heart  itself. 

How  profound  that  mystery  of  the  Invisible  is !  We  can- 
not fathom  it  with  our  miserable  senses,  with  our  eyes 
which  are  unable  to  perceive  what  is  either  too  small  or 
too  great,  too  near  to,  or  too  far  from  us;  neither  the  in- 
habitants of  a  star  nor  of  a  drop  of  water  .  .  .  with  our 
ears  that  deceive  us,  for  they  transmit  to  us  the  vibrations 
of  the  air  in  sonorous  notes.  They  are  fairies  who  work 
the  miracle  of  changing  that  movement  into  noise,  and  by 
that  metamorphosis  give  birth  to  music,  which  makes  the 
mute  agitation  of  nature  musical  .  .  .  with  our  sense  of 
smell  which  is  smaller  than  that  of  a  dog  .  .  .  with  our 
sense  of  taste  which  can  scarcely  distinguish  the  age  of  a 
wine ! 

Oh!  If  we  only  had  other  organs  which  would  work 
other  miracles  in  our  favor,  what  a  number  of  fresh  things 
we  might  discover  around  us! 

May  i6th.  I  am  ill,  decidedly!  I  was  so  well  last  month! 
I  am  feverish,  horribly  feverish,  or  rather  I  am  in  a  state 
of  feverish  enervation,  which  makes  my  mind  suffer  as 
much  as  my  body.  I  have  without  ceasing  that  horrible 
sensation  of  some  danger  threatening  me,  that  apprehen- 
sion of  some  coming  misfortune  or  of  approaching  death, 
that  presentiment  which  is,  no  doubt,  an  attack  of  some 
illness  which  is  still  unknown,  which  germinates  in  the 
flesh  and  in  the  blood. 

May  iSth.  I  have  just  come  from  consulting  my  medi- 
cal man,  for  I  could  no  longer  get  any  sleep.  He  found 
that  my  pulse  was  high,  my  eyes  dilated,  my  nerves  highly 

46 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

strung,  but  no  alarming  symptoms.  I  must  have  a  course 
of  shower-baths  and  of  bromide  of  potassium. 

May  25th.  No  change !  My  state  is  really  very  peculiar. 
As  the  evening  comes  on,  an  incomprehensible  feeling  of 
disquietude  seizes  me,  just  as  if  night  concealed  some  ter- 
rible menace  toward  me.  I  dine  quickly,  and  then  try  to 
read,  but  I  do  not  understand  the  words,  and  can  scarcely 
distinguish  the  letters.  Then  I  walk  up  and  down  my 
drawing-room,  oppressed  by  a  feeling  of  confused  and 
irresistible  fear,  the  fear  of  sleep  and  fear  of  my  bed. 

About  ten  o'clock  I  go  up  to  my  room.  As  soon  as 
I  have  got  in  I  double  lock,  and  bolt  it:  I  am  frightened — 
of  what?  Up  till  the  present  time  I  have  been  frightened 
of  nothing — I  open  my  cupboards,  and  look  under  my  bed; 
I  listen — I  Hsten — to  what?  How  strange  it  is  that  a 
simple  feeling  of  discomfort,  impeded  or  heightened  cir- 
culation, perhaps  the  irritation  of  a  nervous  thread,  a  slight 
congestion,  a  small  disturbance  in  the  imperfect  and  deli- 
cate functions  of  our  living  machinery,  can  turn  the  most 
lighthearted  of  men  into  a  melancholy  one,  and  make  a 
coward  of  the  bravest!  Then,  I  go  to  bed,  and  I  wait 
for  sleep  as  a  man  might  wait  for  the  executioner.  I  wait 
for  its  coming  with  dread,  and  my  heart  beats  and  my 
legs  tremble,  while  my  whole  body  shivers  beneath  the 
warmth  of  the  bedclothes,  until  the  moment  when  I  sud- 
denly fall  asleep,  as  one  would  throw  oneself  into  a  pool 
of  stagnant  water  in  order  to  drown  oneself.  I  do  not  feel 
coming  over  me,  as  I  used  to  do  formerly,  this  perfidious 
sleep  which  is  close  to  me  and  watching  me,  which  is  going 
to  seize  me  by  the  head,  to  close  my  eyes  and  annihilate  me. 

I  sleep — a  long  time — two  or  three  hours  perhaps — then 
a  dream — no — a  nightmare  lays  hold  on  me.  I  feel  that 
I  am  in  bed  and  asleep — I  feel  it  and  I  know  it — and  I  feel 
also  that  somebody  is  coming  close  to  me,  is  looking  at 
me,  touching  me,  is  getting  on  to  my  bed,  is  kneeHng  on 
my  chest,  is  taking  my  neck  between  his  hands  and 
squeezing  it — squeezing  it  with  all  his  might  in  order  to 
strangle  me. 

47 


French  Mystery  Stories 

I  struggle,  bound  by  that  terrible  powerlessness  which 
paralyzes  us  in  our  dreams;  I  try  to  cry  out — but  I  can- 
not; I  want  to  move — I  cannot;  I  try,  with  the  most  violent 
efforts  and  out  of  breath,  to  turn  over  and  throw  off  this 
being  which  is  crushing  and  suffocating  me — I  cannot! 

And  then,  suddenly,  I  wake  up,  shaken  and  bathed  in 
perspiration ;  I  Hght  a  candle  and  find  that  I  am  alone,  and 
after  that  crisis,  which  occurs  every  night,  I  at  length 
fall  asleep  and  slumber  tranquilly  till  morning. 

June  2d,  My  state  has  grown  worse.  What  is  the  mat- 
ter with  me?  The  bromide  does  me  no  good,  and  the 
shower-baths  have  no  effect  whatever.  Sometimes,  in 
order  to  tire  myself  out,  though  I  am  fatigued  enough 
already,  I  go  for  a  walk  in  the  forest  of  Roumare.  I  used 
to  think  at  first  that  the  fresh  light  and  soft  air,  impreg- 
nated with  the  odor  of  herbs  and  leaves,  would  instill  new 
blood  into  my  veins  and  impart  fresh  energy  to  my  heart. 
I  turned  into  a  broad  ride  in  the  wood,  and  then  I  turned 
toward  La  Bouille,  through  a  narrow  path,  between  two 
rows  of  exceedingly  tall  trees,  which  placed  a  thick,  green, 
almost  black  roof  between  the  sky  and  me. 

A  sudden  shiver  ran  through  me,  not  a  cold  shiver,  but 
a  shiver  of  agony,  and  so  I  hastened  my  steps,  uneasy  at 
being  alone  in  the  wood,  frightened  stupidly  and  without 
reason,  at  the  profound  solitude.  Suddenly  it  seemed  to 
me  as  if  I  were  being  followed,  that  somebody  was  walking 
at  my  heels,  close,  quite  close  to  me,  near  enough  to 
touch  me. 

I  turned  round  suddenly,  but  I  was  alone.  I  saw  nothing 
behind  me  except  the  straight,  broad  ride,  empty  and  bor- 
dered by  high  trees,  horribly  empty;  on  the  other  side  it 
also  extended  until  it  was  lost  in  the  distance,  and  looked 
just  the  same,  terrible. 

I  closed  my  eyes.  Why?  And  then  I  began  to  turn 
round  on  one  heel  very  quickly,  just  like  a  top.  I  nearly 
fell  down,  and  opened  my  eyes;  the  trees  were  dancing 
round  me  and  the  earth  heaved;  I  was  obliged  to  sit  down. 
Then,  ah!  I  no  longer  remembered  how  I  had  come!  What 

48 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

a  strange  idea!  What  a  strange,  strange  idea!  I  did  not 
the  least  know.  I  started  off  to  the  right,  and  got  back  into 
the  avenue  which  had  led  me  into  the  middle  of  the  forest. 

June  sd.  I  have  had  a  terrible  night.  I  shall  go  away 
for  a  few  weeks,  for  no  doubt  a  journey  will  set  me  up 
again. 

July  2d,  I  have  come  back,  quite  cured,  and  have  had 
a  most  delightful  trip  into  the  bargain.  I  have  been  to 
Mont  Saint-Michel,  which  I  had  not  seen  before. 

What  a  sight,  when  one  arrives  as  I  did,  at  Avranches 
toward  the  end  of  the  day!  The  town  stands  on  a  hill, 
and  I  was  taken  into  the  public  garden  at  the  extremity 
of  the  town.  I  uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment.  An  ex- 
traordinarily large  bay  lay  extended  before  me,  as  far  as 
my  eyes  could  reach,  between  two  hills  which  were  lost  to 
sight  in  the  mist;  and  in  the  middle  of  this  immense  yel- 
low bay,  under  a  clear,  golden  sky,  a  peculiar  hill  rose  up, 
somber  and  pointed  in  the  midst  of  the  sand.  The  sun 
had  just  disappeared,  and  under  the  still  flaming  sky  the 
outline  of  that  fantastic  rock  stood  out,  which  bears  on  its' 
summit  a  fantastic  monument. 

At  daybreak  I  went  to  it.  The  tide  was  low  as  it  had 
been  the  night  before,  and  I  saw  that  wonderful  abbey  rise 
up  before  me  as  I  approached  it.  After  several  hours'  walk- 
ing, I  reached  the  enormous  mass  of  rocks  which  supports 
the  little  town,  dominated  by  the  great  church.  Having 
climbed  the  steep  and  narrow  street,  I  entered  the  most 
wonderful  Gothic  building  that  has  ever  been  built  to  God 
on  earth,  as  large  as  a  town,  full  of  low  rooms  which  seem 
buried  beneath  vaulted  roofs,  and  lofty  galleries  supported 
by  delicate  columns. 

I  entered  this  gigantic  granite  jewel  which  is  as  light 
as  a  bit  of  lace,  covered  with  towers,  with  slender  belfries 
to  which  spiral  staircases  ascend,  and  which  raise  their 
strange  heads  that  bristle  with  chimeras,  with  devils,  with 
fantastic  animals,  with  monstrous  flowers,  and  which  are 
joined  together  by  finely  carved  arches,  to  the  blue  sky 
by  day,  and  to  the  black  sky  by  night. 

49 


French  Mystery  Stories 

When  I  had  reached  the  summit,  I  said  to  the  monk 
who  accompanied  me:  ''Father,  how  happy  you  must  be 
here!''  And  he  replied:  ''It  is  very  windy,  Monsieur;" 
and  so  we  began  to  talk  while  watching  the  rising  tide, 
which  ran  over  the  sand  and  covered  it  with  a  steel  cuirass. 

And  then  the  monk  told  me  stories,  all  the  old  stories 
belonging  to  the  place,  legends,  nothing  but  legends. 

One  of  them  struck  me  forcibly.  The  country  people, 
those  belonging  to  the  Mornet,  declare  that  at  night  one 
can  hear  talking  going  on  in  the  sand,  and  then  that  one 
hears  two  goats  bleat,  one  with  a  strong,  the  other  with 
a  weak  voice.  Incredulous  people  declare  that  it  is  nothing 
but  the  cry  of  the  sea  birds,  which  occasionally  resembles 
bleatings,  and  occasionally  human  lamentations ;  but  be- 
lated fishermen  swear  that  they  have  met  an  old  shepherd, 
whose  head,  which  is  covered  by  his  cloak,  they  can  never 
see,  wandering  on  the  downs,  between  two  tides,  round  the 
little  town  placed  so  far  out  of  the  world,  and  who  is  guid- 
ing and  walking  before  them,  a  he-goat  with  a  man's  face, 
and  a  she-goat  with  a  woman's  face,  and  both  of  them  with 
white  hair;  and  talking  incessantly,  quarreling  in  a  strange 
language,  and  then  suddenly  ceasing  to  talk  in  order  to 
bleat  with  all  their  might. 

"  Do  you  believe  it  ?  "  I  asked  the  monk.  "  I  scarcely 
know,"  he  replied,  and  I  continued:  "If  there  are  other 
beings  besides  ourselves  on  this  earth,  how  comes  it  that 
we  have  not  known  it  for  so  long  a  time,  or  why  have  you 
not  seen  them?  How  is  it  that  I  have  not  seen  them?  " 
He  replied :  "  Do  we  see  the  hundred  thousandth  part  of 
what  exists?  Look  here;  there  is  the  wind,  which  is  the 
strongest  force  in  nature,  which  knocks  down  men,  and 
blows  down  buildings,  uproots  trees,  raises  the  sea  into 
mountains  of  water,  destroys  cliffs  and  casts  great  ships 
onto  the  breakers;  the  wind  which  kills,  which  whistles, 
which  sighs,  which  roars — have  you  ever  seen  it,  and  can 
you  see  it?    It  exists  for  all  that,  however." 

I  was  silent  before  this  simple  reasoning.  That  man 
was  a  philosopher,  or  perhaps  a  fool;  I  could  not  say  which 

50 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

exactly,  so  I  held  my  tongue.  What  he  had  said,  had  often 
been  in  my  own  thoughts. 

July  jrf.  I  have  slept  badly;  certainly  there  is  some  fe- 
verish influence  here,  for  my  coachman  is  suffering  in  the 
same  way  as  I  am.  When  I  went  back  home  yesterday, 
I  noticed  his  singular  paleness,  and  I  asked  him:  ''What 
is  the  matter  with  you,  Jean  ?  "  "  The  matter  is  that  I 
never  get  any  rest,  and  my  nights  devour  my  days.  Since 
your  departure,  monsieur,  there  has  been  a  spell  over  me." 

However,  the  other  servants  are  all  well,  but  I  am  very 
frightened  of  having  another  attack,  myself. 

July  4th.  I  am  decidedly  taken  again;  for  my  old  night- 
mares have  returned.  Last  night  I  felt  somebody  leaning 
on  me  who  was  sucking  my  life  from  between  my  lips 
with  his  mouth.  Yes,  he  was  sucking  it  out  of  my  neck^ 
like  a  leech  would  have  done.  Then- he  got  up,  satiated, 
and  I  woke  up,  so  beaten,  crushed  and  annihilated  that  I 
could  not  move.  If  this  continues  for  a  few  days,  I  shall 
certainly  go  away  again. 

July  5th,  Have  I  lost  my  reason?  What  has  happened, 
what  I  saw  last  night,  is  so  strange,  that  my  head  wanders 
when  I  think  of  it! 

As  I  do  now  every  evening,  I  had  locked  my  door,  and 
then,  being  thirsty,  I  drank  half  a  glass  of  water,  and  I 
accidentally  noticed  that  the  water  bottle  was  full  up  to  the 
cut-glass  stopper. 

Then  I  went  to  bed  and  fell  into  one  of  my  terrible 
sleeps,  from  which  I  was  aroused  in  about  two  hours  by 
a  still  more  terrible  shock. 

Picture  to  yourself  a  sleeping  man  who  is  being  mur- 
dered and  who  wakes  up  with  a  knife  in  his  chest,  and  who 
is  rattling  in  his  throat,  covered  with  blood,  and  who  can 
no  longer  breathe,  and  is  going  to  die,  and  does  not  un- 
derstand anything  at  all  about  it — there  it  is. 

Having  recovered  my  senses,  I  was  thirsty  again,  so  I 
lit  a  candle  and  went  to  the  table  on  which  my  water  bottle 
was.  I  lifted  it  up  and  tilted  it  over  my  glass,  but  nothing 
came  out.    It  was  empty!    It  was  completely  empty!  At 

SI 


French  Mystery  Stories 

first  I  could  not  understand  it  at  all,  and  then  suddenly  I 
was  seized  by  such  a  terrible  feeling  that  I  had  to  sit  down, 
or  rather  I  fell  into  a  chair!  Then  I  sprang  up  with  a 
bound  to  look  about  me,  and  then  I  sat  down  again,  over- 
come by  astonishment  and  fear,  in  front  of  the  transparent 
crystal  bottle!  I  looked  at  it  with  fixed  eyes,  trying  to  con- 
jecture, and  my  hands  trembled!  Somebody  had  drunk 
the  water,  but  who?  I?  I  without  any  doubt.  It  could 
surely  only  be  I?  In  that  case  I  was  a  somnambulist,  I 
lived,  without  knowing  it,  that  double  mysterious  life  which 
makes  us  doubt  whether  there  are  not  two  beings  in  us, 
or  whether  a  strange,  unknowable  and  invisible  being  does 
not  at  such  moments,  when  our  soul  is  in  a  state  of  torpor, 
animate  our  captive  body  which  obeys  this  other  being, 
as  it  does  us  ourselves,  and  more  than  it  does  ourselves. 

Oh!  Who  will  understand  my  horrible  agony?  Who 
will  understand  the  emotion  of  a  man  who  is  sound  in 
mind,  wide  awake,  full  of  sound  sense,  and  who  looks  in 
horror  at  the  remains  of  a  little  water  that  has  disappeared 
while  he  was  asleep,  through  the  glass  of  a  water  bottle? 
And  I  remained  there  until  it  was  daylight,  without  ven- 
turing to  go  to  bed  again. 

July  6th.  1  am  going  mad.  Again  all  the  contents  of 
my  water  bottle  have  been  drunk  during  the  night — or 
rather,  I  have  drunk  it! 

But  is  it  I?  Is  it  I?  Who  could  it  be?  Who?  Oh! 
God!   Am  I  going  mad?  Who  will  save  me? 

July  loth.  I  have  just  been  through  some  surprising 
ordeals.    Decidedly  I  am  mad!    And  yet!  

On  July  6th,  before  going  to  bed,  I  put  some  wine, 
milk,  water,  bread  and  strawberries  on  my  table.  Some- 
body drank — I  drank — all  the  water  and  a  little  of  the 
milk,  but  neither  the  wine,  bread  nor  the  strawberries  were 
touched. 

On  the  seventh  of  July  I  renewed  the  same  experiment, 
with  the  same  results,  and  on  July  8th,  I  left  out  the  water 
and  the  milk  and  nothing  was  touched. 

Lastly,  on  July  9th  I  put  only  water  and  milk  on  my 

C2 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

table,  taking  care  to  wrap  up  the  bottles  in  white  muslin 
and  to  tie  down  the  stoppers.  Then  I  rubbed  my  lips, 
my  beard  and  my  hands  with  pencil  lead,  and  went  to  bed. 

Irresistible  sleep  seized  me,  which  was  soon  followed 
by  a  terrible  awakening.  I  had  not  moved,  and  my  sheets 
were  not  marked.  I  rushed  to  the  table.  The  muslin 
round  the  bottles  remained  intact;  I  undid  the  string,  trem- 
bling with  fear.  All  the  water  had  been  drunk,  and  so  had 
the  milk!   Ah!  Great  God!  

I  must  start  for  Paris  immediately. 

July  I2th,  Paris.  I  must  have  lost  my  head  during 
the  last  few  days!  I  must  be  the  plaything  of  my  ener- 
vated imagination,  unless  I  am  really  a  somnambulist,  or 
that  I  have  been  brought  under  the  power  of  one  of  those 
influences  which  have  been  proved  to  exist,  but  which 
have  hitherto  been  inexpHcable,  which  are  called  sugges- 
tions. In  any  case,  my  mental  state  bordered  on  madness, 
and  twenty-four  hours  of  Paris  sufficed  to  restore  me  to 
my  equilibrium. 

Yesterday  after  doing  some  business  and  paying  some 
visits  which  instilled  fresh  and  invigorating  mental  air  into 
me,  I  wound  up  my  evening  at  the  Theatre  Frangais.  A 
play  by  Alexandre  Dumas  the  Younger  was  being  acted, 
and  his  active  and  powerful  mind  completed  my  cure. 
Certainly  solitude  is  dangerous  for  active  minds.  We  re- 
quire men  who  can  think  and  can  talk,  around  us.  When 
we  are  alone  for  a  long  time  we  people  space  with  phan- 
toms. 

I  returned  along  the  boulevards  to  my  hotel  in  excellent 
spirits.  Amid  the  jostling  of  the  crowd  I  thought,  not 
without  irony,  of  my  terrors  and  surmises  of  the  previous 
week,  because  I  believed,  yes,  I  believed,  that  an  invisible 
being  lived  beneath  my  roof.  How  weak  our  head  is,  and 
how  quickly  it  is  terrified  and  goes  astray,  as  soon  as  we 
are  struck  by  a  small,  incomprehensible  fact. 

Instead  of  concluding  with  these  simple  words :  "  I  do 
not  understand  because  the  cause  escapes  me,''  we  imme- 
diately imagine  terrible  mysteries  and  supernatural  powers. 

53 


French  Mystery  Stories 

July  14th,  Fete  of  the  Republic.  I  walked  through  the 
streets,  and  the  crackers  and  flags  amused  me  like  a  child. 
Still  it  is  very  foolish  to  be  merry  on  a  fixed  date,  by  a 
Government  decree.  The  populace  is  an  imbecile  flock  of 
sheep,  now  steadily  patient,  and  now  in  ferocious  revolt. 
Say  to  it:  ''Amuse  yourself,"  and  it  amuses  itself.  Say  to 
it:  ''Go  and  fight  with  your  neighbor,''  and  it  goes  and 
fights.  Say  to  it:  "Vote  for  the  Emperor,"  and  it  votes 
for  the  Emperor,  and  then  say  to  it:  "Vote  for  the  Re- 
public," and  it  votes  for  the  Republic. 

Those  who  direct  it  are  also  stupid;  but  instead  of 
obeying  men  they  obey  principles,  which  can  only  be 
stupid,  sterile,  and  false,  for  the  very  reason  that  they 
are  principles,  that  is  to  say,  ideas  which  are  considered 
as  certain  and  unchangeable,  in  this  world  where  one  is 
certain  of  nothing,  since  light  is  an  illusion  and  noise  is  an 
illusion. 

July  i6th,  I  saw  some  things  yesterday  that  troubled 
me  very  much. 

I  was  dining  at  my  cousin's  Madame  Sable,  whose  hus- 
band is  colonel  of  the  76th  Chasseurs  at  Limoges.  There 
were  two  young  women  there,  one  of  whom  had  married 
a  medical  man.  Dr.  Parent,  who  devotes  him.self  a  great 
deal  to  nervous  diseases  and  the  extraordinary  manifes- 
tations to  which  at  this  moment  experiments  in  hypnotism 
and  suggestion  give  rise. 

He  related  to  us  at  some  length,  the  enormous  results 
obtained  by  English  scientists  and  the  doctors  of  the  medi- 
cal school  at  Nancy,  and  the  facts  which  he  adduced  ap- 
peared to  me  so  strange,  that  I  declared  that  I  was  alto- 
gether incredulous. 

"  We  are,"  he  declared,  "  on  the  point  of  discovering 
one  of  the  most  important  secrets  of  nature,  I  mean  to  say, 
one  of  its  most  important  secrets  on  this  earth,  for  there 
are  certainly  some  which  are  of  a  different  kind  of  im- 
portance up  in  the  stars,  yonder.  Ever  since  man  has 
thought,  since  he  has  been  able  to  express  and  write  down 
his  thoughts,  he  has  felt  himself  close  to  a  mystery  which 

54 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

is  impenetrable  to  his  coarse  and  imperfect  senses,  and  he 
endeavors  to  supplement  the  want  of  power  of  his  organs 
by  the  efforts  of  his  intellect.  As  long  as  that  intellect 
still  remained  in  its  elementary  stage,  this  intercourse  with 
invisible  spirits  assumed  forms  whch  were  commonplace 
though  terrifying.  Thence  sprang  the  popular  belief  in 
the  supernatural,  the  legends  of  wandering  spirits,  of 
fairies,  of  gnomes,  ghosts,  I  might  even  say  the  legend  of 
God,  for  our  conceptions  of  the  workman-creator,  from 
whatever  religion  they  may  have  come  down  to  us,  are 
certainly  the  most  mediocre,  the  stupidest  and  the  most 
unacceptable  inventions  that  ever  sprang  from  the  fright- 
ened brain  of  any  human  creatures.  Nothing  is  truer  than 
what  Voltaire  says :  ^  God  made  man  in  His  own  image, 
but  man  has  certainly  paid  Him  back  again.' 

But  for  rather  more  than  a  century,  men  seem  to  have 
had  a  presentiment  of  something  new.  Mesmer  and  some 
others  have  put  us  on  an  unexpected  track,  and  especially 
within  the  last  two  or  three  years,  we  have  arrived  at  really 
surprising  results." 

My  cousin,  who  is  also  very  incredulous,  smiled,  and 
Dr.  Parent  said  to  her:  "Would  you  Hke  me  to  try  and 
send  you  to  sleep,  Madame  ?  "    "  Yes,  certainly." 

She  sat  down  in  an  easy-chair,  and  he  began  to  look  at 
her  fixedly,  so  as  to  fascinate  her.  I  suddenly  felt  myself 
somewhat  uncomfortable,  with  a  beating  heart  and  a  chok- 
ing feeling  in  my  throat.  I  saw  that  Madame  Sable's  eyes 
were  growing  heavy,  her  mouth  twitched  and  her  bosom 
heaved,  and  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  she  was  asleep. 

Stand  behind  her,"  the  doctor  said  to  me,  and  so  I  took 
a  seat  behind  her.  He  put  a  visiting  card  into  her  hands, 
and  said  to  her:  "  This  is  a  looking-glass;  what  do  you  see 
in  it?"  And  she  repHed:  ''I  see  my  cousin."  ''What  is 
he  doing? "  He  is  twisting  his  mustache."  "  And 
now?"    ''He  is  taking  a  photograph  out  of  his  pocket." 

Whose  photograph  is  it?  "   "  His  own." 

That  was  true,  and  that  photograph  had  been  given  me 
that  same  evening  at  the  hotel, 

55 


French  Mystery  Stories 

What  is  his  attitude  in  this  portrait? He  is  stand- 
ing up  with  his  hat  in  his  hand.'' 

So  she  saw  on  that  card,  on  that  piece  of  white  paste- 
board, as  if  she  had  seen  it  in  a  looking-glass. 

The  young  women  were  frightened,  and  exclaimed: 

That  is  quite  enough  !   Quite,  quite  enough  !  " 

But  the  doctor  said  to  her  authoritatively :  You  will  get 
up  at  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning;  then  you  will  go 
and  call  on  your  cousin  at  his  hotel  and  ask  him  to  lend 
you  five  thousand  francs  which  your  husband  demands  of 
you,  and  which  he  will  ask  for  when  he  sets  out  on  his 
coming  journey." 

Then  he  woke  her  up. 

On  returning  to  my  hotel,  I  thought  over  this  curious 
seance  and  I  was  assailed  by  doubts,  not  as  to  my  cousin's 
absolute  and  undoubted  good  faith,  for  I  had  known  her  as 
well  as  if  she  had  been  my  own  sister  ever  since  she  was 
a  child,  but  as  to  a  possible  trick  on  the  doctor's  part.  Had 
not  he,  perhaps,  kept  a  glass  hidden  in  his  hand,  which  he 
showed  to  the  young  woman  in  her  sleep,  at  the  same  time 
as  he  did  the  card?  Professional  conjurers  do  things  which 
are  just  as  singular. 

So  I  went  home  and  to  bed,  and  this  morning,  at  about 
half-past  eight,  I  was  awakened  by  my  footman,  who  said 
to  me :  Madame  Sable  has  asked  to  see  you  immediately. 
Monsieur,"  so  I  dressed  hastily  and  went  to  her. 

She  sat  down  in  some  agitation,  with  her  eyes  on  the 
floor,  and  without  raising  her  veil  she  said  to  me :  My 
dear  cousin,  I  am  going  to  ask  a  great  favor  of  you." 

What  is  it,  cousin?  "  I  do  not  like  to  tell  you,  and  yet 
I  must.    I  am  in  absolute  want  of  five  thousand  francs." 

What,  you?"  "Yes,  I,  or  rather  my  husband,  who  has 
asked  me  to  procure  them  for  him." 

I  was  so  stupefied  that  I  stammered  out  my  answers.  I 
asked  myself  whether  she  had  not  really  been  making  fun 
of  me  with  Doctor  Parent,  if  it  were  not  merely  a  very 
well-acted  farce  which  had  been  got  up  beforehand.  On 
looking  at  her  attentively,  however,  my  doubts  disappeared. 

56 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

She  was  trembling  with  grief,  so  painful  was  this  step  to 
her,  and  I  was  sure  that  her  throat  was  full  of  sobs. 

I  knew  that  she  was  very  rich  and  so  I  continued: 

What !  Has  not  your  husband  five  thousand  francs  at 
his  disposal!  Come,  think.  Are  you  sure  that  he  commis- 
sioned you  to  ask  me  for  them  ?  " 

She  hesitated  for  a  few  seconds,  as  if  she  were  making  a 
great  effort  to  search  her  memory,  and  then  she  replied : 

Yes  .  .  .  yes,  I  am  quite  sure  of  it."  He  has  written 
to  you  ?  " 

She  hesitated  again  and  reflected,  and  I  guessed  the  tor- 
ture of  her  thoughts.    She  did  not  know.    She  only  knew 
that  she  was  to  borrow  five  thousand  francs  of  me  for  her 
husband.   So  she  told  a  lie.    "  Yes,  he  has  written  to  me.'' 
When,  pray?   You  did  not  mention  it  to  me  yesterday.'' 
I  received  his  letter  this  morning."    "  Can  you  show  it 
me  ?  "       No ;  no  ...  no  ...  it  contained  private  mat- 
ters .  .  .  things  too  personal  to  ourselves.  ...  I  burnt  it." 
So  your  husband  runs  into  debt?" 

She  hesitated  again,  and  then  murmured :  "  I  do  not 
know."    Thereupon  I  said  bluntly :    I  have  not  five  thou- 
sand francs  at  my  disposal  at  this  moment,  my  dear  cousin." 
She  uttered  a  kind  of  cry  as  if  she  were  in  pain  and  said : 
Oh !  oh !  I  beseech  you,  I  beseech  you  to  get  them  for 
me  .  .  . 

She  got  excited  and  clasped  her  hands  as  if  she  were 
praying  to  me !  I  heard  her  voice  change  its  tone ;  she 
wept  and  stammered,  harassed  and  dominated  by  the  irre- 
sistible order  that  she  had  received. 

"  Oh !  oh !  I  beg  you  to  ...  if  you  knew  what  I  am 
suffering.  ...  I  want  them  to-day." 

I  had  pity  on  her :  You  shall  have  them  by  and  by,  I 
swear  to  you."  "  Oh !  thank  you !  thank  you !  How  kind 
you  are!  " 

I  continued :  "  Do  you  remember  what  took  place  at  your 
house  last  night?  "  Yes."  Do  you  remember  that  Doc- 
tor Parent  sent  you  to  sleep  ?  "  "  Yes."  Oh  !  Very  well 
then ;  he  ordered  you  to  come  to  me  this  morning  to  bor- 

57 


French  Mystery  Stories 

row  five  thousand  francs,  and  at  this  moment  you  are  obey- 
ing that  suggestion.'' 

She  considered  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  replie(J : 
But  as  it  is  my  husband  who  wants  them  .  . 
For  a  whole  hour  I  tried  to  convince  her,  but  could  not 
succeed,  and  when  she  had  gone  I  went  to  the  doctor.  He 
was  just  going  out,  and  he  listened  to  me  with  a  smile,  and 
said :     Do  you  believe  now  ?  "      Yes,  I  cannot  help  it.'' 
Let  us  go  to  your  cousin's." 

She  was  already  dozing  on  a  couch,  overcome  with 
fatigue.  The  doctor  felt  her  pulse,  looked  at  her  for  some 
time  with  one  hand  raised  toward  her  eyes  which  she  closed 
by  degrees  under  the  irresistible  power  of  this  magnetic  in- 
fluence, and  when  she  was  asleep,  he  said : 

"  Your  husband  does  not  require  the  five  thousand  francs 
any  longer!  You  must,  therefore,  forget  that  you  asked 
your  cousin  to  lend  them  to  you,  and,  if  he  speaks  to  you 
about  it,  you  will  not  understand  him." 

Then  he  woke  her  up,  and  I  took  out  a  pocketbook  and 
said :  "  Here  is  what  you  asked  me  for  this  morning,  my 
dear  cousin."  But  she  was  so  surprised  that  I  did  not 
venture  to  persist;  nevertheless,  I  tried  to  recall  the  cir- 
cumstance to  her,  but  she  denied  it  vigorously,  thought  that 
I  was  making  fun  of  her,  and  in  the  end  very  nearly  lost 
her  temper. 

There !  I  have  just  come  back,  and  I  have  not  been  able 
to  eat  any  lunch,  for  this  experiment  has  altogether  upset 
me. 

July  ipth.  Many  people  to  whom  I  have  told  the  ad- 
venture have  laughed  at  me.  I  no  longer  know  what  to 
think.    The  wise  man  says  :  Perhaps  ? 

July  2ist.  I  dined  at  Bougival,  and  then  I  spent  the  even- 
ing at  a  boatmen's  ball.  Decidedly  everything  depends  on 
place  and  surroundings.  It  would  be  the  height  of  folly  to 
believe  in  the  supernatural  on  the  Ue  de  la  Grenouilliere  ^ 
•  .  .  but  on  the  top  of  Mont  Saint-Michel?  .  .  .  and  in 
1  Frog-island. 

58 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

India?  We  are  terribly  under  the  influence  of  our  sur- 
roundings.   I  shall  return  home  next  week. 

July  joth.  I  came  back  to  my  own  house  yesterday^ 
Everything  is  going  on  well. 

August  2d,  Nothing  fresh;  it  is  splendid  weather,  and  I 
spend  my  days  in  watching  the  Seine  flow  past. 

August  4tk,  Quarrels  among  my  servants.  They  declare 
that  the  glasses  are  broken  in  the  cupboards  at  night.  The 
footman  accuses  the  cook,  who  accuses  the  needlewoman, 
who  accuses  the  other  two.  Who  is  the  culprit  ?  A  clever 
person,  to  be  able  to  tell. 

August  6th,  This  time  I  am  not  mad.  I  have  seen  .  .  . 
I  have  seen  ...  I  have  seen !  .  .  .  I  can  doubt  no  longer 
.  .  .  I  have  seen  it!  .  .  . 

I  was  walking  at  two  o'clock  among  my  rose  trees,  in  the 
•full  sunlight  ...  in  the  walk  bordered  by  autumn  roses 
which  are  beginning  to  fall.  As  I  stopped  to  look  at  a 
Geant  de  Bataille,  which  had  three  splendid  blooms,  I  dis- 
tinctly saw  the  stalk  of  one  of  the  roses  bend,  close  to  me, 
as  if  an  invisible  hand  had  bent  it,  and  then  break,  as  if 
that  hand  had  picked  it !  Then  the  flower  raised  itself,  fol- 
lowing the  curve  which  a  hand  would  have  described  in 
carrying  it  toward  a  mouth,  and  it  remained  suspended  in 
the  transparent  air,  all  alone  and  motionless,  a  terrible  red 
spot,  three  yards  from  my  eyes.  In  desperation  I  rushed 
at  it  to  take  it !  I  found  nothing ;  it  had  disappeared.  Then 
I  was  seized  with  furious  rage  against  myself,  for  it  is  not 
allowable  for  a  reasonable  and  serious  man  to  have  such 
hallucinations. 

But  was  it  a  hallucination?  I  turned  round  to  look  for 
the  stalk,  and  I  found  it  immediately  under  the  bush, 
freshly  broken,  between  two  other  roses  which  remained 
on  the  branch,  and  I  returned  home  then,  with  a  much  dis- 
turbed mind;  for  I  am  certain  now,  as  certain  as  I  am  of  the 
alternation  of  day  and  night,  that  there  exists  close  to  me 
an  invisible  being  that  lives  on  milk  and  on  water,  which 
can  touch  objects,  take  them  and  change  their  places ;  which 
is,  consequently,  endowed  with  a  material  nature,  although 

59 


French  Mystery  Stories 

it  is  imperceptible  to  our  senses,  and  which  Hves  as  I  do^ 
under  my  roof.  .  .  . 

August  yth,  I  slept  tranquilly.  He  drank  the  water  out  of 
my  decanter,  but  did  not  disturb  my  sleep. 

I  ask  myself  whether  I  am  mad.  As  I  was  walking  just 
now  in  the  sun  by  the  riverside,  doubts  as  to  my  own  sanity 
arose  in  me ;  not  vague  doubts  such  as  I  have  had  hitherto, 
but  precise  and  absolute  doubts.  I  have  seen  mad  people, 
and  I  have  known  some  who  have  been  quite  intelligent, 
lucid,  even  clear-sighted  in  every  concern  of  life,  except 
on  one  point.  They  spoke  clearly,  readily,  profoundly  on 
everything,  when  suddenly  their  thoughts  struck  upon  the 
breakers  of  their  madness  and  broke  to  pieces  there,  and 
were  dispersed  and  foundered  in  that  furious  and  terrible 
sea,  full  of  bounding  waves,  fogs  and  squalls,  which  is  called 
madness, 

I  certainly  should  think  that  I  was  mad,  absolutely  mad,, 
if  I  were  not  conscious,  did  not  perfectly  know  my  state, 
if  I  did  fathom  it  by  analyzing  it  with  the  most  complete 
lucidity.  I  should,  in  fact,  be  a  reasonable  man  who  was 
laboring  under  a  hallucination.  Some  unknown  disturb- 
ance must  have  been  excited  in  my  brain,  one  of  those  dis- 
turbances which  physiologists  of  the  present  day  try  to  note 
and  to  fix  precisely,  and  that  disturbance  must  have  caused 
a  profound  gulf  in  my  mind  and  in  the  order  and  logic  of 
my  ideas.  Similar  phenomena  occur  in  the  dreams  which 
lead  us  through  the  most  unlikely  phantasmagoria,  without 
causing  us  any  surprise,  because  our  verifying  apparatus 
and  our  sense  of  control  has  gone  to  sleep,  while  our  imag- 
inative faculty  wakes  and  works.  Is  it  not  possible  that 
one  of  the  imperceptible  keys  of  the  cerebral  finger-board 
has  been  paralyzed  in  me  ?  Some  men  lose  the  recollection 
of  proper  names,  or  of  verbs  or  of  numbers  or  merely  of 
dates,  in  consequence  of  an  accident.  The  localization  of 
all  the  particles  of  thought  has  been  proved  nowadays;  what 
then  would  there  be  surprising  in  the  fact  that  my  faculty 
of  controlling  the  unreality  of  certain  hallucinations  should 
be  destroyed  for  the  time  being! 

60 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

I  thought  of  all  this  as  I  walked  by  the  side  of  the  water. 
The  sun  was  shining  brightly  on  the  river  and  made  earth 
delightful,  while  it  filled  my  looks  with  love  for  life,  for 
the  swallows,  whose  agility  is  always  delightful  in  my  eyes, 
for  the  plants  by  the  riverside,  whose  rustHng  is  a  pleasure 
to  my  ears. 

By  degrees,  however,  an  inexplicable  feeling  of  discom- 
fort seized  me.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  some  unknown 
force  were  numbing  and  stopping  me,  were  preventing  me 
from  going  farther  and  were  calling  me  back.  I  felt  that 
painful  wish  to  return  which  oppresses  you  when  you  have 
left  a  beloved  invalid  at  home,  and  when  you  are  seized  by 
a  presentiment  that  he  is  worse. 

I,  therefore,  returned  in  spite  of  myself,  feeling  certain 
that  I  should  find  some  bad  news  awaiting  me,  a  letter  or 
a  telegram.  There  was  nothing,  however,  and  I  was  more 
surprised  and  uneasy  than  if  I  had  had  another  fantastic 
vision. 

August  8th.  I  spent  a  terrible  evening  yesterday.  He 
does  not  show  himself  any  more,  but  I  feel  that  he  is  near 
me,  watching  me,  looking  at  me,  penetrating  me,  dominat- 
ing me  and  more  redoubtable  when  he  hides  himself  thus, 
than  if  he  were  to  manifest  his  constant  and  invisible  pres- 
ence by  supernatural  phenomena.    However,  I  slept. 

August  pth.    Nothing,  but  I  am  afraid. 

August  loth.    Nothing;  what  will  happen  to-morrow? 

August  nth.  Still  nothing;  I  cannot  stop  at  home  with 
this  fear  hanging  over  me  and  these  thoughts  in  my  mind ; 
I  shall  go  away. 

August  I2th.  Ten  o'clock  at  night.  All  day  long  I  have 
been  trying  to  get  away,  and  have  not  been  able.  I  wished 
to  accomplish  this  simple  and  easy  act  of  liberty — go  out 
— get  into  my  carriage  in  order  to  go  to  Rouen — and  I  have 
not  been  able  to  do  it.    What  is  the  reason  ? 

August  ijth.  When  one  is  attacked  by  certain  maladies, 
all  the  springs  of  our  physical  being  appear  to  be  broken, 
all  our  energies  destroyed,  all  our  muscles  relaxed,  our 
bones  to  have  become  as  soft  as  our  flesh,  and  our  blood 

6i 


French  Mystery  Stories 

as  liquid  as  water.  I  am  experiencing  that  in  my  moral 
being  in  a  strange  and  distressing  manner.  I  have  no 
longer  any  strength,  any  courage,  any  self-control,  nor 
even  any  power  to  set  my  own  will  in  motion.  I  have  no 
power  left  to  will  anything,  but  some  one  does  it  for  me 
and  I  obey. 

August  14th.  I  am  lost!  Somebody  possesses  my  soul 
and  governs  it !  Somebody  orders  all  my  acts,  all  my  move- 
ments, all  my  thoughts.  I  am  no  longer  anything  in  my- 
self, nothing  except  an  enslaved  and  terrified  spectator  of 
all  the  things  which  I  do.  I  wish  to  go  out ;  I  cannot.  He 
does  not  wish  to,  and  so  I  remain,  trembling  and  dis- 
tracted in  the  armchair  in  which  he  keeps  me  sitting.  I 
merely  wish  to  get  up  and  to  rouse  myself,  so  as  to  think 
that  I  am  still  master  of  myself :  I  cannot !  I  am  riveted 
to  my  chair,  and  my  chair  adheres  to  the  ground  in  such  a 
manner  that  no  force  could  move  us. 

Then  suddenly,  I  must,  I  must  go  to  the  bottom  of  my 
garden  to  pick  some  strawberries  and  eat  them,  and  I  go 
there.  I  pick  the  strawberries  and  I  eat  them!  Oh!  my 
God!  my  God!  Is  there  a  God?  If  there  be  one,  deliver 
me!  save  me!  succor  me!  Pardon!  Pity!  Mercy!  Save 
me!    Oh!  what  sufferings!  what  torture!  what  horror! 

August  i^th.  Certainly  this  is  the  way  in  which  my  poor 
cousin  was  possessed  and  swayed,  when  she  came  to  borrow 
five  thousand  francs  of  me.  She  was  under  the  power  of  a 
strange  will  which  had  entered  into  her,  like  another  soul, 
like  another  parasitic  and  ruling  soul.  Is  the  world  coming 
to  an  end? 

But  who  is  he,  this  invisible  being  that  rules  me?  This 
unknowable  being,  this  rover  of  a  supernatural  race? 

Invisible  beings  exist,  then!  How  is  it  then  that  since 
the  beginning  of  the  world  they  have  never  manifested 
themselves  in  such  a  manner  precisely  as  they  do  to  me  ? 
I  have  never  read  anything  which  resembles  what  goes  on 
in  my  house.  Oh!  If  I  could  only  leave  it,  if  I  could  only 
go  away  and  flee,  so  as  never  to  return,  I  should  be  saved ; 
but  I  cannot. 

62 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

August  i6th.  I  managed  to  escape  to-day  for  two  hours, 
like  a  prisoner  who  finds  the  door  of  his  dungeon  accident- 
ally open.  I  suddenly  felt  that  I  was  free  and  that  he  was 
far  away,  and  so  I  gave  orders  to  put  the  horses  in  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and  I  drove  to  Rouen.  Oh!  How 
delightful  to  be  able  to  say  to  a  man  who  obeyed  you:  Go 
to  Rouen ! 

I  made  him  pull  up  before  the  library,  and  I  begged  them 
to  lend  me  Dr.  Herrmann  Herestauss's  treatise  on  the  un- 
known inhabitants  of  the  ancient  and  modern  world. 

Then,  as  I  was  getting  into  my  carriage,  I  intended  to 
say :  To  the  railway  station ! but  instead  of  this  I  shouted 
— I  did  not  say,  but  I  shouted — in  such  a  loud  voice  that 
all  the  passers-by  turned  round :  "  Home ! and  I  fell 
back  onto  the  cushion  of  my  carriage,  overcome  by  men- 
tal agony.  He  had  found  me  out  and  regained  possession 
of  me. 

August  i/th.  Oh !  What  a  night !  what  a  night !  And 
yet  it  seems  to  me  that  I  ought  to  rejoice.  I  read  until  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning!  Herestauss,  Doctor  of  Philosophy 
and  Theogony,  wrote  the  history  and  the  manifestation  of 
all  those  invisible  beings  which  hover  around  man,  or  of 
whom  he  dreams.  He  describes  their  origin,  their  domains, 
their  power;  but  none  of  them  resembles  the  one  which 
haunts  me.  One  might  say  that  man,  ever  since  he  has 
thought,  has  had  a  foreboding  of,  and  feared  a  new  being, 
stronger  than  himself,  his  successor  in  this  world,  and  that, 
feeling  him  near,  and  not  being  able  to  foretell  the  nature 
of  that  master,  he  has,  in  his  terror,  created  the  whole  race 
of  hidden  beings,  of  vague  phantoms  born  of  fear. 

Having,  therefore,  read  until  one  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
I  went  and  sat  down  at  the  open  window,  in  order  to  cool 
my  forehead  and  my  thoughts,  in  the  calm  night  air.  It 
was  very  pleasant  and  warn^ '  How  I  should  have  enjoyed 
such  a  night  formerly ! 

There  was  no  moon,  but  the  stars  darted  out  their  rays 
in  the  dark  heavens.  Who  inhabits  those  worlds?  What 
forms,  what  living  beings,  what  animals  are  there  yonder? 

63 


French  Mystery  Stories 

What  do  those  who  are  thinkers  in  those  distant  worlds 
know  more  than  we  do  ?  What  can  they  do  more  than  we 
can  ?  What  do  they  see  which  we  do  not  know  ?  Will  not 
one  of  them,  some  day  or  other,  traversing  space,  appear 
on  our  earth  to  conquer  it,  just  as  the  Norsemen  formerly 
crossed  the  sea  in  order  to  subjugate  nations  more  feeble 
than  themselves? 

We  are  so  weak,  so  unarmed,  so  ignorant,  so  small,  we 
who  live  on  this  particle  of  mud  which  turns  round  in  a 
drop  of  water. 

I  fell  asleep,  dreaming  thus  in  the  cool  night  air,  and 
then,  having  slept  for  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  I 
opened  my  eyes  without  moving,  awakened  by  I  know  not 
what  confused  and  strange  sensation.  At  first  I  saw  noth- 
ing, and  then  suddenly  it  appeared  to  me  as  if  a  page  of 
a  book  which  had  remained  open  on  my  table,  turned  over 
of  its  own  accord.  Not  a  breath  of  air  had  come  in  at  my 
window,  and  I  was  surprised  and  waited.  In  about  four 
minutes,  I  saw,  I  saw,  yes  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  another 
page  lift  itself  up  and  fall  down  on  the  others,  as  if  a  finger 
had  turned  it  over.  My  armchair  was  empty,  appeared 
empty,  but  I  knew  that  he  was  there,  he,  and  sitting  in 
my  place,  and  that  he  was  reading.  With  a  furious  bound, 
the  bound  of  an  enraged  wild  beast  that  wishes  to  disem- 
bowel its  tamer,  I  crossed  my  room  to  seize  him,  to  strangle 
him,  to  kill  him !  .  .  .  But  before  I  could  reach  it,  my  chair 
fell  over  as  if  somebody  had  run  away  from  me  .  .  .  my 
table  rocked,  my  lamp  fell  and  went  out,  and  my  window 
closed  as  if  some  thief  had  been  surprised  and  had  fled  out 
into  the  night,  shutting  it  behind  him. 

So  he  had  run  away:  he  had  been  afraid;  he,  afraid  of 
me ! 

So  .  .  .  so  .  .  .  to-morrow  ...  or  later  .  .  .  some  day 
or  other  ...  I  should  be  able  to  hold  him  in  my  clutches 
and  crush  him  against  the  ground !  Do  not  dogs  occasion- 
ally bite  and  strangle  their  masters  ? 

August  1 8th,  I  have  been  thinking  the  whole  day  long. 
Oh!  yes,  I  will  obey  him,  follow  his  impulses,  fulfill  all  his 

64 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

wishes,  show  myself  humble,  submissive,  a  coward.  He  is 
the  stronger;  but  an  hour  will  come  .  .  . 

August  ipth.  I  know,  ...  I  know  ...  I  know  all!  I 
have  just  read  the  following  in  the  Revue  du  Monde  Seien- 
tiUque:  "  A  curious  piece  of  news  comes  to  us  from  Rio 
de  Janeiro.  Madness,  an  epidemic  of  madness,  which  may 
be  compared  to  that  contagious  madness  which  attacked  the 
people  of  Europe  in  the  Middle  Ages,  is  at  this  moment 
raging  in  the  Province  of  San-Paulo.  The  frightened  in- 
habitants are  leaving  their  houses,  deserting  their  villages, 
abandoning  their  land,  saying  that  they  are  pursued,  pos- 
sessed, governed  like  human  cattle  by  invisible,  though 
tangible  beings,  a  species  of  vampire,  which  feed  on  their 
life  while  they  are  asleep,  and  who,  besides,  drink  water 
and  milk  without  appearing  to  touch  any  other  nourish- 
ment. 

"  Professor  Don  Pedro  Henriques,  accompanied  by  sev- 
eral medical  savants,  has  gone  to  the  Province  of  San-Paulo, 
in  order  to  study  the  origin  and  the  manifestations  of  this 
surprising  madness  on  the  spot,  and  to  propose  such  meas- 
ures to  the  Emperor  as  may  appear  to  him  to  be  most  fitted 
to  restore  the  mad  population  to  reason.'' 

Ah!  Ah!  I  remember  now  that  fine  Brazilian  three- 
master  which  passed  in  front  of  my  windows  as  it  was 
going  up  the  Seine,  on  the  8th  of  last  May!  I  thought  it 
looked  so  pretty,  so  white  and  bright!  That  Being  was 
on  board  of  her,  coming  from  there,  where  its  race  sprang 
from.  And  it  saw  me!  It  saw  my  house  which  was  also 
white,  and  it  sprang  from  the  ship  onto  the  land.  Oh! 
Good  heavens! 

Now  I  know,  I  can  divine.  The  reign  of  man  is  over, 
and  he  has  come.  He  whom  disquieted  priests  exorcised, 
whom  sorcerers  evoked  on  dark  nights,  without  yet  seeing 
him  appear,  to  whom  the  presentiments  of  the  transient 
masters  of  the  world  lent  all  the  monstrous  or  graceful 
forms  of  gnomes,  spirits,  genii,  fairies,  and  familiar  spirits. 
After  the  coarse  conceptions  of  primitive  fear,  more  clear- 
sighted men  foresaw  it  more  clearly.   Mesmer  divined  him, 

65 


French  Mystery  Storks 

and  ten  years  ago  physicians  accurately  discovered  the  na- 
ture of  his  power,  even  before  he  exercised  it  himself.  They 
played  with  that  weapon  of  their  new  Lord,  the  sway  of  a 
mysterious  will  over  the  human  soul,  which  had  become 
enslaved.  They  called  it  magnetism,  hypnotism,  sugges- 
tion .  .  ,  what  do  I  know?  I  have  seen  them  amusing 
themselves  like  impudent  children  with  this  horrible  power ! 
Woe  to  us!  Woe  to  man!  He  has  come,  the  .  .  .  the 
....  what  does  he  call  himself  .  .  .  the  ...  I  fancy  that 
he  is  shouting  out  his  name  to  me  and  I  do  not  hear  him 
.  .  .  the  .  .  .  yes  ...  he  is  shouting  it  out  ...  I  am  lis- 
tening ...  I  cannot  .  .  .  repeat  .  .  .  it  .  .  .  Horla  ...  I 
have  heard  .  .  .  the  Horla  ...  it  is  he  .  .  .  the  Horla 
.  .  .  he  has  come!  .  .  . 

Ah !  the  vulture  has  eaten  the  pigeon,  the  wolf  has  eaten 
the  lamb;  the  lion  has  devoured  the  buffalo  with  sharp 
horns ;  man  has  killed  the  lion  with  an  arrow,  with  a  sword, 
with  gunpowder ;  but  the  Horla  will  make  of  man  what  we 
have  made  of  the  horse  and  of  the  ox:  his  chattel,  his 
slave  and  his  food,  by  the  mere  power  of  his  will.  Woe 
to  us! 

But,  nevertheless,  the  animal  sometimes  revolts  and  kills 
the  man  who  has  subjugated  it.  ...  I  should  also  like  .  .  . 
I  shall  be  able  to  .  .  .  but  I  must  know  him,  touch  him,  see 
him !  Learned  men  say  that  beasts'  eyes,  as  they  differ  from 
ours,  do  not  distinguish  like  ours  do  .  .  .  And  my  eye  can- 
not distinguish  this  newcomer  who  is  oppressing  me. 

Why?  Oh!  Now  I  remember  the  words  of  the  monk  at 
Mont  Saint-Michel :  Can  we  see  the  hundred-thousandth 
part  of  what  exists  ?  Look  here ;  there  is  the  wind  which  is 
the  strongest  force  in  nature,  which  knocks  men,  and  blows 
down  buildings,  uproots  trees,  raises  the  sea  into  mountains 
of  water,  destroys  clififs  and  casts  great  ships  onto  the 
breakers ;  the  wind  which  kills,  which  whistles,  which  sighs, 
which  roars — have  you  ever  seen  it,  and  can  you  see  it? 
It  exists  for  all  that,  however !  " 

And  I  went  on  thinking:  my  eyes  are  so  weak,  so  im- 
perfect, that  they  do  not  even  distinguish  hard  bodies,  if 

66 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

they  are  as  transparent  as  glass!  ...  If  a  glass  without 
tinfoil  behind  it  were  to  bar  my  way,  I  should  run  into  it, 
just  as  a  bird  which  has  flown  into  a  room  breaks  its  head 
against  the  window  panes.  A  thousand  things,  moreover, 
deceive  him  and  lead  him  astray.  How  should  it  then  be 
surprising  that  he  cannot  perceive  a  fresh  body  which  is 
traversed  by  the  light? 

A  new  being!  Why  not?  It  was  assuredly  bound  to 
come !  Why  should  we  be  the  last  ?  We  do  not  distinguish 
it,  like  all  the  others  created  before  us.  The  reason  is,  that 
its  nature  is  more  perfect,  its  body  finer  and  more  finished 
than  ours,  that  ours  is  so  weak,  so  awkwardly  conceived, 
encumbered  with  organs  that  are  alw^ays  tired,  always  on 
the  strain  like  locks  that  are  too  complicated,  which  lives 
like  a  plant  and  like  a  beast,  nourishing  itself  with  difficulty 
on  air,  herbs  and  flesh,  an  animal  machine  which  is  a  prey 
to  maladies,  to  malformations,  to  decay ;  broken-winded, 
badly  regulated,  simple  and  eccentric,  ingeniously  badly 
made,  a  coarse  and  a  delicate  work,  the  outline  of  a  being 
which  might  become  intelligent  and  grand. 

We  are  only  a  few,  so  few  in  this  world,  from  the  oyster 
up  to  man.  Why  should  there  not  be  one  more,  when  once 
that  period  is  accomplished  which  separates  the  successive 
apparitions  from  all  the  different  species? 

Why  not  one  more  ?  Why  not,  also,  other  trees  with  im- 
mense, splendid  flowers,  perfuming  whole  regions?  Why 
not  other  elements  besides  fire,  air,  earth  and  water?  There 
are  four,  only  four,  those  nursing  fathers  of  various  be- 
ings! What  a  pity!  Why  are  they  not  forty,  four  hun- 
dred, four  thousand !  How  poor  everything  is,  how  mean 
and  wretched!  grudgingly  given,  dryly  invented,  clumsily 
made !  Ah  !  the  elephant  and  the  hippopotamus,  what  grace ! 
And  the  camel,  what  elegance ! 

But,  the  butterfly  you  will  say,  a  flying  flower !  I  dream 
of  one  that  should  be  as  large  as  a  hundred  worlds,  with 
wings  whose  shape,  beauty,  colors,  and  motion  I  cannot 
even  express.  But  I  see  it  .  .  .  it  flutters  from  star  to 
star,  refreshing  them  and  perfuming  them  with  the  light 

67 


French  Mystery  Stories 

and  harmonious  breath  of  its  flight!  .  .  .  And  the  people 
up  there  look  at  it  as  it  passes  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight !  .  .  . 

What  is  the  matter  with  me?  It  is  he,  the  Horla  who 
haunts  me,  and  who  makes  me  think  of  these  foolish  things ! 
He  is  within  me,  he  is  becoming  my  soul;  I  shall  kill 
him ! 

August  ipth,  I  shall  kill  him.  I  have  seen  him!  Yes- 
terday I  sat  down  at  my  table  and  pretended  to  write  very 
assiduously.  I  knew  quite  well  that  he  would  come  prowl- 
ing- round  me,  quite  close  to  me,  so  close  that  I  might 
perhaps  be  able  to  touch  him,  to  seize  him.  And  then !  .  .  . 
then  I  should  have  the  strength  of  desperation;  I  should 
have  my  hands,  my  knees,  my  chest,  my  forehead,  my  teeth 
to  strangle  him,  to  crush  him,  to  bite  him,  to  tear  him  to 
pieces.  And  I  watched  for  him  with  all  my  overexcited 
organs. 

I  had  lighted  my  two  lamps  and  the  eight  wax  candles 
on  my  mantelpiece,  as  if  by  this  light  I  could  have  discov- 
ered him. 

My  bed,  my  old  oak  bed  with  its  columns,  was  opposite 
to  me ;  on  my  right  was  the  fireplace ;  on  my  left  the  door 
which  was  carefully  closed,  after  I  had  left  it  open  for  some 
time,  in  order  to  attract  him;  behind  me  was  a  very  high 
wardrobe  with  a  looking-glass  in  it,  which  served  me  to 
make  my  toilet  every  day,  and  in  which  I  was  in  the  habit 
of  locking  at  myself  from  head  to  foot  every  time  I 
passed  it. 

So  I  pretended  to  be  writing  in  order  to  deceive  him,  for 
he  also  was  watching  me,  and  suddenly  I  felt,  I  was  cer- 
tain that  he  was  reading  over  my  shoulder,  that  he  was 
there,  almost  touching  my  ear. 

I  got  up  so  quickly,  with  my  hands  extended,  that  I  al- 
most fell.  Eh!  well?  ...  It  was  as  bright  as  at  midday, 
but  I  did  not  see  myself  in  the  glass!  ...  It  was  empty, 
clear,  profound,  full  of  light!  But  my  figure  was  not  re- 
flected in  it  .  .  .  and  I,  I  was  opposite  to  it!  I  saw  the 
large,  clear  glass  from  top  to  bottom,  and  I  looked  at  it 

68 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Gny  de  Maupassant 

with  unsteady  eyes;  and  I  did  not  dare  to  advance;  I  did 
not  venture  to  make  a  movement,  nevertheless,  feeUng  per- 
fectly that  he  was  there,  but  that  he  would  escape  me  again, 
he  whose  imperceptible  body  had  absorbed  my  reflection. 

How  frightened  I  was !  And  then  suddenly  I  began  to 
see  myself  through  a  mist  in  the  depths  of  the  looking- 
glass,  in  a  mist  as  it  were  through  a  sheet  of  water ;  and  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  this  water  were  flowing  slowly  from 
left  to  right,  and  making  my  figure  clearer  every  moment. 
It  was  like  the  end  of  an  eclipse.  Whatever  it  was  that 
hid  me,  did  not  appear  to  possess  any  clearly  defined  out- 
lines, but  a  sort  of  opaque  transparency,  which  gradually 
grew  clearer. 

At  last  I  was  able  to  distinguish  myself  completely,  as 
I  do  every  day  when  I  look  at  myself. 

I  had  seen  it!  And  the  horror  of  it  remained  with  me 
and  makes  me  shudder  even  now. 

August  20th,  How  could  I  kill  it,  as  I  could  not  get 
hold  of  it?  Poison?  But  it  would  see  me  mix  it  with  the 
water ;  and  then,  would  our  poisons  have  any  effect  on  its 
impalpable  body?  No  ...  no  ...  no  doubt  about  the 
matter.  .  .  .  Then?  .  .  .  then?  .  .  . 

August  2ist.  I  sent  for  a  blacksmith  from  Rouen,  and 
ordered  iron  shutters  of  him  for  my  room,  such  as  some 
private  hotels  in  Paris  have  on  the  ground  floor,  for  fear  of 
thieves,  and  he  is  going  to  make  me  a  similar  door  as  well. 
I  have  made  myself  out  as  a  coward,  but  I  do  not  care 
about  that!  .  .  . 

September  loth.  Rouen,  Hotel  Continental.  It  is  done; 
.  .  .  it  is  done  .  .  .  but  is  he  dead?  My  mind  is  thor- 
oughly upset  by  what  I  have  seen. 

Well,  then,  yesterday  the  locksmith  having  put  on  the 
iron  shutters  and  door,  I  left  everything  opeu  until  mid- 
night, although  it  was  getting  cold. 

Suddenly  I  felt  that  he  was  there,  and  joy,  mad  joy, 
took  possession  of  me.  I  got  up  softly,  and  I  walked  to 
the  right  and  left  for  some  time,  so  that  he  might  not 
guess  anything;  then  I  took  ofif  my  boots  and  put  on  my 

69 


French  Mystery  Stories 

slippers  carelessly;  then  I  fastened  the  iron  shutters  and 
going  back  to  the  door  quickly  I  double-locked  it  with  a 
padlock,  putting  the  key  into  my  pocket. 

Suddenly  I  noticed  that  he  was  moving  restlessly  round 
me,  that  in  his  turn  he  was  frightened  and  was  ordering  me 
to  let  him  out.  I  nearly  yielded,  though  I  did  not  yet,  but 
putting  my  back  to  the  door  I  half  opened  it,  just  enough 
to  allow  me  to  go  out  backward,  and  as  I  am  very  tall, 
Biy  head  touched  the  lintel.  I  was  sure  that  he  had  not 
been  able  to  escape,  and  I  shut  him  up  quite  alone,  quite 
alone.  What  happiness!  I  had  him  fast.  Then  I  ran 
downstairs;  in  the  drawing-room,  which  was  under  my 
bedroom,  I  took  the  two  lamps  and  I  poured  all  the  oil 
onto  the  carpet,  the  furniture,  everywhere;  then  I  set  fire 
to  it  and  made  my  escape,  after  having  carefully  double- 
locked  the  door. 

I  went  and  hid  myself  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  in  a 
clump  of  laurel  bushes.  How  long  it  was  !  how  long  it  was  ! 
Everything  was  dark,  silent,  motionless,  not  a  breath  of  air 
and  not  a  star,  but  heavy  banks  of  clouds  which  one  could 
not  see,  but  which  weighed,  oh !  so  heavily  on  my  soul. 

I  looked  at  my  house  and  waited.  How  long  it  was! 
I  already  began  to  think  that  the  fire  had  gone  out  of  its 
own  accord,  or  that  he  had  extinguished  it,  when  one  of 
the  lower  windows  gave  way  under  the  violence  of  the 
flames,  and  a  long,  soft,  caressing  sheet  of  red  flame 
mounted  up  the  white  wall  and  kissed  it  as  high  as  the 
roof.  The  light  fell  onto  the  trees,  the  branches,  and  the 
leaves,  and  a  shiver  of  fear  pervaded  them  also !  The  birds 
awoke;  a  dog  began  to  howl,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
the  day  were  breaking!  Almost  immediately  two  other 
windows  flew  into  fragments,  and  I  saw  that  the  whole  of 
the  lower  part  of  my  house  was  nothing  but  a  terrible  fur- 
nace. But  a  cry,  a  horrible,  shrill,  heartrending  cry,  a 
woman's  cry,  sounded  through  the  night,  and  two  garret 
windows  were  opened!  I  had  forgotten  the  servants!  I 
saw  the  terrorstruck  faces,  and  their  frantically  waving 
arms !  .  .  . 

70 


Henri  Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant 

Then,  overwhelmed  with  horror,  I  set  off  to  run  to  the 
village,  shouting:  "Help!  help!  fire!  fire!''  I  met  some 
people  who  were  already  coming  onto  the  scene,  and  I  went 
back  with  them  to  see! 

By  this  time  the  house  was  nothing  but  a  horrible  and 
magnificent  funeral  pile,  a  monstrous  funeral  pile  which  lit 
up  the  whole  country,  a  funeral  pile  where  men  were  burn- 
ing, and  where  he  was  burning  also.  He,  He,  my  prisoner, 
that  new  Being,  the  new  master,  the  Horla ! 

Suddenly  the  whole  roof  fell  in  between  the  walls,  and  a 
volcano  of  flames  darted  up  to  the  sky.  Through  all  the 
windows  which  opened  onto  that  furnace  I  saw  the  flames 
darting,  and  I  thought  that  he  was  there,  in  that  kiln,  dead. 

Dead?  perhaps?  .  .  .  His  body?  Was  not  his  body, 
which  was  transparent,  indestructible  by  such  means  as 
would  kill  ours? 

If  he  was  not  dead?  .  .  .  Perhaps  time  alone  has  power 
over  that  Invisible  and  Redoubtable  Being.  Why  this 
transparent,  unrecognizable  body,  this  body  belonging  to  a 
spirit,  if  it  also  had  to  fear  ills,  infirmities  and  premature 
destruction  ? 

Premature  destruction?  All  human  terror  springs  from 
that !  After  man  the  Horla.  After  him  who  can  die  every 
day,  at  any  hour,  at  any  moment,  by  any  accident,  he  came 
who  was  only  to  die  at  his  own  proper  hour  and  minute, 
because  he  had  touched  the  limits  of  his  existence ! 

No  .  .  .  no  .  .  .  without  any  doubt  ...  he  is  not  dead. 
Then  .  .  .  then  ...  I  suppose  I  must  kill  myself! 

Footnote. — This  story  is  a  tragic  experience  and  prophecy.  It 
was  insanity  that  robbed  the  world  of  its  most  finished  short  story 
writer,  the  author  of  this  tale ;  and  even  before  his  madness  became 
overpowering,  de  Maupassant  complained  that  he  was  haunted  by 
his  double — by  a  vision  of  another  Self  confronting  and  threaten- 
ing him.  He  had  run  life  at  its  top  speed;  this  hallucination  was 
the  result. 

Medical  science  defines  in  such  cases  "  an  image  of  memory  which 
differs  in  intensity  from  the  normal" — that  is  to  say,  a  fixed  idea 
so  persistent  and  growing  that  to  the  thinker  it  seems  utterly  real. 

— Editor. 


71 


Pierre  Mille 


The  Miracle  of  Zobeide 

y^LWAYS  wise  and  prudent,  Zobeide  cautiously  put 
aside  the  myrtle  branches  and  peeped  through  to  see 
who  were  the  persons  talking  by  the  fountain  in  the  cool 
shadow  of  the  pink  sandstone  wall.  And  when  she  saw 
that  it  was  only  the  Rev.  John  Feathercock,  her  lord  and 
master,  discoursing  as  usual  with  Mohammed-si-Koualdia, 
she  went  toward  them  frankly  but  slowly. 

When  she  was  quite  near  she  stopped,  and  from  the  light 
that  played  in  her  deep  black  eyes  you  would  have  thought 
that  surely  she  was  listening  with  the  deepest  attention. 
But  the  truth  is  that  with  all  her  little  brain,  with  all  her 
mouth,  and  with  all  her  stomach,  she  was  craving  the  yel- 
low and  odorous  pulp  of  a  melon  which  had  been  cut  open 
and  put  on  the  table  near  two  tall  glasses  half  filled  with 
snowy  sherbet.  For  Zobeide  was  a  turtle  of  the  ordinary 
kind  found  in  the  grass  of  all  the  meadows  around  the  city 
of  Damascus. 

As  she  waited,  Mohammed  continued  his  story: 
"  And,  as  I  tell  you,  O  reverend  one  abounding  in  vir- 
tues, this  lion  which  still  lives  near  Tabariat,  was  formerly 
a  strong  lion,  a  wonderful  lion,  a  lion  among  lions !  To-day, 
even,  he  can  strike  a  camel  dead  with  one  blow  of  his  paw, 
and  then,  plunging  his  fangs  into  the  spine  of  the  dead  ani- 
mal, toss  it  upon  his  shoulders  with  a  single  movement  of 
his  neck.  But  unfortunately,  having  one  day  brought  down 
a  goat  in  the  chase  by  simply  blowing  upon  it  the  breath 
of  his  nostrils,  the  lion  was  inflated  with  pride  and  cried: 
'  There  is  no  god  but  God,  but  I  am  as  strong  as  God. 
Let  him  acknowledge  it !  '  Allah,  who  heard  him,  Allah, 
the  All-powerful,  said  in  a  loud  voice,  '  O  lion  of  Tabariat, 

72 


Pierre  Milk 

try  now  to  carry  off  thy  prey! '  Then  the  lion  planted  his 
great  teeth  firmly  in  the  spine  of  the  animal,  right  under 
the  ears,  and  attempted  to  throw  it  on  his  back.  Onallahi ! 
It  was  as  though  he  had  tried  to  lift  Mount  Libanus,  and 
his  right  leg  fell  lamed  to  the  ground.  And  the  voice  of 
Allah  still  held  him,  declaring :  '  Lion,  nevermore  shalt  thou 
kill  a  goat ! '  And  it  has  remained  thus  to  this  day :  the 
lion  of  Tabariat  has  still  all  his  old-time  power  to  carry 
off  camels,  but  he  can  never  do  the  slightest  harm  to  even 
a  new-born  kid.  The  goats  of  the  flocks  dance  in  front  of 
him  at  night,  deriding  him  to  his  face,  and  always  from 
that  moment  his  right  leg  has  been  stiff  and  lame." 

"  Mohammed,''  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Feathercock  contempt- 
uously,   these  are  stories  fit  only  for  babies.'' 

"  How,  then !  "  replied  Mohammed-si-Koualdia.  Do 
you  refuse  to  believe  that  God  is  able  to  do  whatever  he 
may  wish,  that  the  world  itself  is  but  a  perpetual  dream  of 
God's  and  that,  in  consequence,  God  may  change  this  dream 
at  will  ?  Are  you  a  Christian  if  you  deny  the  power  of  the 
All-powerful?" 

I  am  a  Christian,"  replied  the  clergyman  with  a  trace 
of  embarrassment ;  but  for  a  long  time  we  have  been 
obliged  to  admit,  we  pastors  of  the  civilized  Church  of  the 
Occident,  that  God  would  not  be  able,  without  belying  him- 
self, to  change  the  order  of  things  which  he  established 
when  he  created  the  universe.  We  consider  that  faith  in 
miracles  is  a  superstition  which  we  must  leave  to  the  monks 
of  the  Churches  of  Rome  and  of  Russia,  and  also  to  your 
Mussulmans  who  live  in  ignorance  of  the  truth.  And  it 
is  in  order  to  teach  you  this  truth  that  I  have  come  here  to 
your  country,  and  at  the  same  time  to  fight  against  the 
pernicious  political  influence  exerted  by  these  same  Rom- 
ish and  Greek  monks  of  whom  I  have  just  been  speaking  " 

"  By  invoking  the  name  of  Allah,"  responded  Mohammed 
with  intense  solemnity,  and  by  virtue  of  the  collar-bone 
of  the  mighty  Solomon,  I  can  perform  great  miracles.  You 
see  this  turtle  before  us  ?  I  shall  cause  it  to  grow  each  day 
the  breadth  of  a  finger !  " 

73 


French  Mystery  Stories 

In  saying  these  words  he  made  a  sudden  movement  of 
his  foot  toward  Zobeide,  and  Zobeide  promptly  drew  her 
head  into  her  shell. 

You  claim  to  be  able  to  work  a  miracle  like  that ! said 
the  clergyman  scornfully.  You,  Mohammed,  a  man  im- 
mersed in  sin,  a  Mussulman  whom  I  have  seen  drunk!  " 

"  I  was  drunk,"  replied  Mohammed  calmly,  "  but  not  as 
drunk  as  others." 

So  you  think  yourself  able  to  force  the  power  of  Al- 
lah !  "  pursued  Mr.  Feathercock,  disdaining  the  interruption. 

I  could  do  it  without  a  moment's  difficulty,"  said  Mo- 
hammed. 

Taking  Zobeide  in  his  hand  he  lifted  her  to  the  table. 
The  frightened  turtle  had  again  drawn  in  her  head.  Noth- 
ing could  be  seen  but  the  black-encircled  golden  squares  of 
her  shell  against  a  background  of  juicy  melon  pulp.  Mo- 
hammed chanted: 

Thou  thyself  art  a  miracle ^  O  turtle !  For  thy  head  is 
the  head  of  a  serpent,  thy  tail  the  tail  of  a  water  rat,  thy 
bones  are  bird's  bones  and  thy  covering  is  of  stone;  and 
yet  thou  knowest  love  as  it  is  knozm  by  men.  And  from 
thy  eggs,  O  turtle  of  stone,  other  turtles  come  forth. 

''Thou  thyself  art  a  miracle,  O  turtle!  For  one  would 
say  that  thou  wert  a  shell,  naught  hut  a  shell,  and  behold! 
thou  art  a  beast  that  eats.  Eat  of  this  melon,  O  turtle,  and 
grow  this  night  the  length  of  my  nail,  if  Allah  permit! 

''  And  when  thou  hast  grozvn  by  the  breadth  of  a  finger, 
O  turtle,  eat  further  of  this  melon,  or  of  its  sister,  another 
melon,  and  grow  further  by  the  breadth  of  a  finger  until 
thou  hast  reached  the  size  of  a  mosque.  Thou  thyself  art  a 
miracle,  O  shell  endowed  with  life!  Perform  still  another 
miracle,  if  Allah  permit,  if  Allah  permit! " 

Zobeide,  reassured  by  the  monotony  of  his  voice,  decided 
at  last  to  come  out  of  her  shell.  First  she  showed  the 
point  of  her  little  horny  nose,  then  her  black  eyes,  her 
flat-pointed  tail,  and  finally  her  strong  little  claw-tipped 
feet.  Seeing  the  melon,  she  made  a  gesture  of  assent,  and 
began  to  eat. 

74 


Pierre  Milk 


"  Nothing  in  the  world  will  happen ! remarked  the  Rev. 
John  Feathercock  rather  doubtfully. 

Wait  and  see,"  answered  Mohammed  gravely.  "  I  shall 
come  back  to-morrow!" 

The  next  morning  he  returned,  measured  Zobeide  with 
his  fingers  and  declared : 

"  She  has  grown !  " 
Do  you  imagine  you  can  make  me  believe  such  a 
thing?"  cried  Mr.  Feathercock  anxiously. 

It  is  written  in  the  Koran,"  answered  Mohammed:  '  I 
swear  by  the  rosy  glow  which  fills  the  air  when  the  sun 
is  setting,  by  the  shades  of  the  night,  and  by  the  light  of 
the  moon,  that  ye  shall  all  change,  in  substance  and  in 
size ! '  Allah  has  manifested  himself ;  the  size  of  this  turtle 
has  changed.  It  will  continue  to  change.  Measure  it  your- 
self and  you  will  see." 

Mr.  Feathercock  did  measure  Zobeide,  and  was  forced 
to  admit  that  she  had  indeed  grown  the  breadth  of  a  finger. 
He  became  thoughtful. 

Thus  day  by  day  Zobeide  grew  in  size,  in  vigor  and  in 
appetite.  At  first  she  had  only  been  as  big  as  a  saucer, 
and  took  each  day  but  a  few  ounces  of  nourishment.  Then 
she  reached  the  size  of  a  dessert  plate,  then  of  a  soup  plate. 
With  her  strong  beak  she  could  split  the  rind  of  a  melon  at 
a  blow;  distinctly  could  be  heard  the  sound  of  her  heavy 
jaws  as  she  crunched  the  sweet  pulp  of  the  fruits  which 
she  loved,  and  which  she  devoured  in  great  quantities.  In 
one  week  she  had  grown  so  tremendously  that  she  was  as 
big  as  a  meat  platter.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Feathercock  no 
longer  dared  to  go  near  this  monster,  from  whose  eyes 
seemed  to  glisten  a  look  of  deviltry.  And,  always  and 
forever,  apparently  devoured  by  a  perpetual  hunger,  the 
monster  ate. 

The  members  of  Mr.  Feathercock's  flock  came  to  hear 
that  he  was  keeping  in  his  house  a  turtle  that  had  been 
enchanted  in  the  name  of  Allah  and  not  by  the  power  of 
the  Occidental  Divinity:  this  proved  to  be  anything  but 
helpful  to  the  evangelical  labors  of  the  clergyman.   But  he 

75 


French  Mystery  Stories 

himself  refused  steadily  and  obstinately  to  believe  in  the 
miracle,  although  Mohammed-si-Koualdia  had  never  set 
foot  in  the  house  since  the  day  when  he  had  invoked  the 
charm.  He  remained  outside  the  grounds,  seated  at  the 
door  of  a  little  cafe,  plunged  in  meditation  or  in  dreams, 
and  consuming  hashish  in  large  quantities.  At  the  end  of 
some  time  Mr.  Feathercock  succeeded  in  persuading  himself 
that  what  he  was  witnessing  was  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  a  perfectly  simple  and  natural  phenomenon,  perhaps 
not  well  understood  hitherto,  and  due  entirely  to  the  ex- 
traordinarily favorable  action  of  melon  pulp  on  the  physical 
development  of  turtles.  He  decided  to  cut  off  Zobeide's 
supply  of  melons. 

Finally  there  came  a  day  when  Mohammed,  drunk  with 
hashish,  saw  Hakem,  Mr.  Feathercock's  valet,  returning 
from  market  with  a  large  bunch  of  fresh  greens.  He  rose 
majestically,  though  with  features  distorted  by  the  drug, 
and  followed  the  boy  with  hasty  steps. 

Miserable    one ! cried    he    to    Mr.  Feathercock. 

Wretched  worm,  you  have  tried  to  break  the  charm !  Re- 
joice then,  for  you  have  succeeded  and  it  is  broken.  But 
let  despair  follow  upon  the  heels  of  your  rapture,  for  it  is 
broken  in  a  way  that  you  do  not  dream.  Henceforth  your 
turtle  shall  dwindle  azvay  day  by  day !  " 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Feathercock  tried  to  laugh,  but  he  did  not 
feel  entirely  happy.  On  Sundays,  at  the  services,  the  few 
faithful  souls  who  remained  in  his  flock  looked  upon  him 
with  suspicion.  At  the  English  consulate  they  spoke  very 
plainly,  telling  him  unsympathetically  that  anyone  who 
would  make  a  friend  of  such  a  man  as  Mohammed-si-Kou- 
aldia and  who  would  mingle  promiscuously  "  with  such 
rabble,  need  look  for  nothing  but  harm  from  it. 

Zobeide,  when  she  was  first  confronted  with  the  fresh, 
damp  greens,  showed  the  most  profound  contempt  for  them. 
Unquestionably  she  preferred  melons.  Mr.  Feathercock  ap- 
plauded his  own  acumen.  She  was  eating  too  much ;  that 
was  the  whole  trouble,"  he  said  to  himself.  And  that  was 
what  made  her  grow  so  remarkably.    If  she  eats  less  she 

76 


Pierre  Mille 


will  probably  not  grow  so  much.  And  if  she  should  happen 
to  die,  I  shall  be  rid  of  her.  Whatever  comes,  it  will  be 
for  the  best." 

But  the  next  day  Zobeide  gave  up  pouting  and  began 
very  docilely  to  eat  the  greens,  and  when  the  boy  Hakem 
carried  her  next  bunch  to  her  he  said  slyly : 
Effendi,  she  is  growing  smaller !  " 

The  clergyman  attempted  to  shrug  his  shoulders,  but  it 
was  impossible  to  disguise  the  fact  from  himself — Zobeide 
had  certainly  shrunk!  And  within  an  hour  all  Damascus 
knew  that  Zobeide  had  shrunk.  When  Mr.  Feathercock 
went  to  the  barber  shop  the  Greek  barber  said  to  him, 
"  Sir,  your  turtle  is  no  ordinary  turtle ! When  he  went 
to  call  on  Mrs.  Hollingshead,  a  lady  who  was  always  in- 
tensely interested  in  all  subjects  that  she  failed  to  under- 
stand and  who  discussed  them  with  a  beautiful  freedom, 
she  said  to  him :  Dear  sir,  your  turtle.  How  exciting  it 
must  be  to  watch  it  shrink !  I  am  certainly  coming  to  see 
it  myself.''  When  he  went  to  the  Anglican  Orphanage,  all 
the  little  Syrians,  all  the  little  Arabs,  all  the  little  Arme- 
nians, all  the  little  Jews,  drew  turtles  in  their  copy-books, 
turtles  of  every  size  and  every  description,  the  big  ones 
walking  behind  the  little  ones,  the  tail  of  each  in  the  mouth 
of  another,  making  an  interminable  line.  And  in  the  street 
the  donkey  drivers,  the  w^ater-carriers,  the  fishmongers,  the 
venders  of  broiled  meats,  of  baked  breads,  of  beans,  of 
cream,  all  cried :  Mister  Turtle,  Mister  Turtle !  Try  our 
wares.  Buy  something  for  your  poor  stubborn  beast  that 
is  pining  away! '' 

And,  in  truth,  the  turtle  continued  to  shrink.  She  be- 
came again  the  size  of  a  soup  plate,  then  of  a  dessert  plate, 
then  of  a  saucer,  till  finally  one  morning  there  was  nothing 
there  but  a  little  round  thing,  tiny,  frail,  translucent,  a  spot 
about  as  big  as  a  lady's  watch,  almost  invisible  at  the  base 
of  the  fountain.  And  the  next  day — ah !  the  next  day  there 
was  nothing  there,  nothing  whatever,  neither  turtle  nor  the 
shadow  of  turtle,  or  more  trace  of  a  turtle  than  of  an  ele- 
phant in  all  the  grounds ! 

77 


French  Mystery  Stories 

Mohammed-si-Koualdia  had  stopped  taking  hashish,  be- 
cause he  was  saturated  with  it.  But  he  remained  all  day 
long,  huddled  in  a  heap  at  the  door  of  the  little  cafe  imme- 
diately opposite  the  clergyman's  house,  his  eyes  enlarged 
out  of  all  proportion,  set  in  a  face  the  color  of  death,  gave 
him  the  look  of  a  veritable  sorcerer.  At  this  moment  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Feathercock  was  returning  from  a  visit  to  the 
English  consul  who  had  said  to  him  coldly : 

All  that  I  can  tell  you  is  that  you  have  made  an 
ass  of  yourself  or,  as  a  Frenchman  would  say,  played 
the  donkey  to  hear  yourself  bray.  The  best  thing  you 
can  do  is  to  go  and  hunt  up  a  congregation  somewhere 
else." 

The  Rev.  John  Feathercock  accepted  the  advice  with  def- 
erence, and  took  the  train  for  Bayreuth.  That  same  even- 
ing Mohammed-si-Koualdia  betook  himself  to  the  house 
of  one  Antonio,  interpreter  and  public  scribe,  and  ordered 
him  to  translate  into  French  the  following  letter,  which  he 
dictated  in  Arabic.  Afterwards  he  carried  this  letter  to 
Father  Stephen,  prior  to  the  monastery  of  the  Greek  Hicro- 
solymites : 

"  May  heaven  paint  your  cheeks  with  the  colors  of  health, 
most  venerable  father,  and  may  happiness  reign  in  your 
heart !  I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you  that  the  Rev.  John 
Feathercock  has  just  left  for  Bayreuth,  but  that  he  has  had 
put  upon  his  trunks  the  address  of  a  city  called  Liverpool, 
which,  I  am  informed,  is  in  the  kingdom  of  England ;  and 
also,  everything  points  to  the  belief  that  he  will  never  re- 
turn. Therefore,  I  dare  to  hope  that  you  will  send  me 
the  second  part  of  the  reward  you  agreed  upon  as  well 
as  a  generous  present  for  Hakem,  Mr.  Feathercock's 
valet,  who  carried  every  day  a  new  turtle  to  the  house  of 
the  clergyman,  and  carried  away  the  old  one  under  his 
cloak. 

I  also  pray  you  to  tell  your  friends  that  I  have  for  sale, 
at  prices  exceptionally  low,  fifty-five  turtles,  all  of  dififerent 
sizes,  the  last  and  smallest  of  which  is  no  larger  than  the 

78 


Pierre  Milk 


watch  of  a  European  houri  I  have  been  at  infinite  pains  to 
find  them,  and  they  have  served  to  prove  to  me  with  what 
exquisite  care  Allah  fashions  the  members  of  the  least  of 
His  creatures  and  ornaments  their  bodies  with  the  most 
dehcate  designs/' 


79 


Villiers  de  I'lsle  Adam 


The  Torture  by  Hope 

ANY  years  ago,  as  evening  was  closing  in,  the  vener- 
able Pedro  Arbuez  d'Espila,  sixth  prior  of  the  Do- 
minicans of  Segovia^  and  third  Grand  Inquisitor  of  Spain, 
followed  by  a  jra  redemptoY,  and  preceded  by  two  familiars 
of  the  Holy  Office,  the  latter  carrying  lanterns,  made  their 
way  to  a  subterranean  dungeon.  The  bolt  of  a  massive  door 
creaked,  and  they  entered  a  mephitic  in-pace,  where  the  dim 
light  revealed  between  rings  fastened  to  the  wall  a  blood- 
stained rack,  a  brazier,  and  a  jug.  On  a  pile  of  straw, 
loaded  with  fetters  and  his  neck  encircled  by  an  iron  car- 
can,  sat  a  haggard  man,  of  uncertain  age,  clothed  in  rags. 

This  prisoner  was  no  other  than  Rabbi  Aser  Abarbanel,  a 
Jew  of  Arragon,  who — accused  of  usury  and  pitiless  scorn 
for  the  poor — had  been  daily  subjected  to  torture  for  more 
than  a  year.  Yet  "  his  blindness  was  as  dense  as  his  hide/' 
and  he  had  refused  to  abjure  his  faith. 

Proud  of  a  filiation  dating  back  thousands  of  years,  proud 
of  his  ancestors — for  all  Jews  worthy  of  the  name  are  vain 
of  their  blood — he  descended  Talmudically  from  Othoniel 
and  consequently  from  Ipsiboa,  the  wife  of  the  last  judge  of 
Israel,  a  circumstance  which  had  sustained  his  courage  amid 
incessant  torture.  With  tears  in  his  eyes  at  the  thought  of 
this  resolute  soul  rejecting  salvation,  the  venerable  Pedro 
Arbuez  d'Espila,  approaching  the  shuddering  rabbi,  ad- 
dressed him  as  follows : 

"  My  son,  rejoice :  your  trials  here  below  are  about  to  end. 
If  in  the  presence  of  such  obstinacy  I  was  forced  to  permit, 
with  deep  regret,  the  use  of  great  severity,  my  task  of  fra- 
ternal correction  has  its  limits.  You  are  the  fig  tree  which, 
having  failed  so  many  times  to  bear  fruit,  at  last  withered, 

80 


Villiers  de  Vlsle  Adam 


but  God  alone  can  judge  your  soul.  Perhaps  Infinite  Mercy 
will  shine  upon  you  at  the  last  moment!  We  must  hope 
so.  There  are  examples.  So  sleep  in  peace  to-night.  To- 
morrow you  will  be  included  in  the  auto  da  fe:  that  is, 
you  will  be  exposed  to  the  quemadero,  the  symbolical  flames 
of  the  Everlasting  Fire:  it  burns,  as  you  know,  only  at  a 
distance,  my  son;  and  Death  is  at  least  two  hours  (often 
three)  in  coming,  on  account  of  the  wet,  iced  bandages, 
with  which  we  protect  the  heads  and  hearts  of  the  con- 
demned. There  will  be  forty-three  of  you.  Placed  in  the 
last  row,  you  will  have  time  to  invoke  God  and  offer  to 
Him  this  baptism  of  fire,  which  is  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 
Hope  in  the  Light,  and  rest." 

With  these  words,  having  signed  to  his  companions  to 
unchain  the  prisoner,  the  prior  tenderly  embraced  him. 
Then  came  the  turn  of  the  fra  redemptor,  who,  in  a  low 
tone,  entreated  the  Jew's  forgiveness  for  what  he  had  made 
him  suffer  for  the  purpose  of  redeeming  him ;  then  the  two 
familiars  silently  kissed  him.  This  ceremony  over,  the  cap- 
tive was  left,  solitary  and  bewildered,  in  the  darkness. 

Rabbi  Aser  Abarbanel,  with  parched  lips  and  visage  worn 
by  suffering,  at  first  gazed  at  the  closed  door  with  vacant 
eyes.  Closed?  The  word  unconsciously  roused  a  vague 
fancy  in  his  mind,  the  fancy  that  he  had  seen  for  an  instant 
the  light  of  the  lanterns  through  a  chink  between  the  door 
and  the  wall.  A  morbid  idea  of  hope,  due  to  the  weakness 
of  his  brain,  stirred  his  whole  being.  He  dragged  himself 
toward  the  strange  appearance.  Then,  very  gently  and  cau- 
tiously, slipping  one  finger  into  the  crevice,  he  drew  the 
door  toward  him.  Marvelous !  By  an  extraordinary  acci- 
dent the  familiar  who  closed  it  had  turned  the  huge  key 
an  instant  before  it  struck  the  stone  casing,  so  that  the 
rusty  bolt  not  having  entered  the  hole,  the  door  again 
rolled  on  its  hinges. 

The  rabbi  ventured  to  glance  outside.  By  the  aid  of  a 
sort  of  luminous  dusk  he  distinguished  at  first  a  semicircle 
of  walls  indented  by  winding  stairs;  and  opposite  to  him, 

8i 


French  Mystery  Stories 

at  the  top  of  five  or  six  stone  steps,  a  sort  of  black  portal, 
opening  into  an  immense  corridor,  whose  first  arches  only 
were  visible  from  below. 

Stretching  himself  flat  he  crept  to  the  threshold.  Yes,  it 
was  really  a  corridor,  but  endless  in  length.  A  wan  light 
illumined  it:  lamps  suspended  from  the  vaulted  ceiling 
lightened  at  intervals  the  dull  hue  of  the  atmosphere — the 
distance  was  veiled  in  shadow.  Not  a  single  door  appeared 
in  the  whole  extent!  Only  on  one  side,  the  left,  heavily 
grated  loopholes,  sunk  in  the  walls,  admitted  a  light  which 
must  be  that  of  evening,  for  crimson  bars  at  intervals  rested 
on  the  flags  of  the  pavement.  What  a  terrible  silence !  Yet, 
yonder,  at  the  far  end  of  that  passage  there  might  be  a 
doorway  of  escape !  The  Jew's  vacillating  hope  was  tena- 
cious, for  it  was  the  last. 

Without  hesitating,  he  ventured  on  the  flags,  keeping 
close  under  the  loopholes,  trying  to  make  himself  part  of 
the  blackness  of  the  long  walls.  He  advanced  slowly,  drag- 
ging himself  along  on  his  breast,  forcing  back  the  cry  of 
pain  when  some  raw  wound  sent  a  keen  pang  through  his 
whole  body. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  a  sandaled  foot  approaching 
reached  his  ears.  He  trembled  violently,  fear  stifled  him, 
his  sight  grew  dim.  Well,  it  was  over,  no  doubt.  He 
pressed  himself  into  a  niche  and,  half  lifeless  with  terror, 
waited. 

It  was  a  familiar  hurrying  along.  He  passed  swiftly  by, 
holding  in  his  clenched  hand  an  instrument  of  torture — a 
frightful  figure — and  vanished.  The  suspense  which  the 
rabbi  had  endured  seemed  to  have  suspended  the  functions 
of  life,  and  he  lay  nearly  an  hour  unable  to  move.  Fearing 
an  increase  of  tortures  if  he  were  captured,  he  thought  of 
returning  to  his  dungeon.  But  the  old  hope  whispered  in 
his  soul  that  divine  perhaps,  which  comforts  us  in  our 
sorest  trials.  A  miracle  had  happened.  He  could  doubt 
no  longer.  He  began  to  crawl  toward  the  chance  of  escape. 
Exhausted  by  suffering  and  hunger,  trembling  with  pain, 
he  pressed  onward.    The  sepulchral  corridor  seemed  to 

82 


Villiers  de  risk  Adam 

lengthen  mysteriously,  while  he,  still  advancing,  gazed  into 
the  gloom  where  there  must  be  some  avenue  of  escape. 

Oh!  oh!  He  again  heard  footsteps,  but  this  time  they 
were  slower,  more  heavy.  The  white  and  black  forms  of 
two  inquisitors  appeared,  emerging  from  the  obscurity  be- 
yond. They  were  conversing  in  low  tones,  and  seemed  to 
be  discussing  some  important  subject,  for  they  were  ges- 
ticulating vehemently. 

At  this  spectacle  Rabbi  Aser  Abarbanel  closed  his  eyes : 
his  heart  beat  so  violently  that  it  almost  suffocated  him ;  his 
rags  were  damp  with  the  cold  sweat  of  agony;  he  lay 
motionless  by  the  wall,  his  mouth  wide  open,  under  the 
rays  of  a  lamp,  praying  to  the  God  of  David. 

Just  opposite  to  him  the  two  inquisitors  paused  under  the 
light  of  the  lamp — doubtless  owing  to  some  accident  due  to 
the  course  of  their  argument.  One,  while  listening  to  his 
companion,  gazed  at  the  rabbi !  And,  beneath  the  look — 
whose  absence  of  expression  the  hapless  man  did  not  at 
first  notice — he  fancied  he  again  felt  the  burning  pincers 
scorch  his  flesh,  he  was  to  be  once  more  a  living  wound. 
Fainting,  breathless,  with  fluttering  eyelids,  he  shivered  at 
the  touch  of  the  monk's  floating  robe.  But — strange  yet 
natural  fact — the  inquisitor's  gaze  was  evidently  that  of  a 
man  deeply  absorbed  in  his  intended  reply,  engrossed  by 
what  he  was  hearing;  his  eyes  were  fixed — and  seemed  to 
look  at  the  Jew  without  seeing  him. 

In  fact,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes,  the  two  gloomy 
figures  slowly  pursued  their  way,  still  conversing  in  low 
tones,  toward  the  place  whence  the  prisoner  had  come ;  he 
HAD  NOT  BEEN  SEEN !  Amid  the  horrible  confusion  of  the 
rabbi's  thoughts,  the  idea  darted  through  his  brain :  Can 
I  be  already  dead  that  they  did  not  see  me  ?  "  A  hideous 
impression  roused  him  from  his  lethargy :  in  looking  at  the 
wall  against  which  his  face  was  pressed,  he  imagined  he 
beheld  two  fierce  eyes  watching  him!  He  flung  his  head 
back  in  a  sudden  frenzy  of  fright,  his  hair  fairly  bristling! 
Yet,  no!  No.  His  hand  groped  over  the  stones:  it  was 
the  reflection  of  the  inquisitor's  eyes,  still  retained  in  his 

83 


French  Mystery  Stories 

own,  which  had  been  refracted  from  two  spots  on  the 
^vall. 

Forward!  He  must  hasten  toward  that  goal  which  he 
fancied  (absurdly,  no  doubt)  to  be  deliverance,  toward  the 
darkness  from  which  he  was  now  barely  thirty  paces  dis- 
tant. He  pressed  forward  faster  on  his  knees,  his  hands, 
at  full  length,  dragging  himself  painfully  along,  and  soon 
entered  the  dark  portion  of  this  terrible  corridor. 

Suddenly  the  poor  wretch  felt  a  gust  of  cold  air  on  the 
hands  resting  upon  the  flags ;  it  came  from  under  the  little 
door  to  which  the  two  walls  led. 

Oh,  Heaven,  if  that  door  should  open  outward.  Every 
nerve  in  the  miserable  fugitive's  body  thrilled  with  hope. 
He  examined  it  from  top  to  bottom,  though  scarcely  able 
to  distinguish  its  outlines  in  the  surrounding  darkness.  He 
passed  his  hand  over  it:  no  bolt,  no  lock!  A  latch!  He 
started  up,  the  latch  yielded  to  the  pressure  of  his  thumb: 
the  door  silently  swung  open  before  him. 

"  Halleluia! murmured  the  rabbi  in  a  transport  of 
gratitude  as,  standing  on  the  threshold,  he  beheld  the  scene 
before  him. 

The  door  had  opened  into  the  gardens,  above  which 
arched  a  starlit  sky,  into  spring,  liberty,  life!  It  revealed 
the  neighboring  fields,  stretching  toward  the  sierras,  whose 
sinuous  blue  lines  were  relieved  against  the  horizon.  Yon- 
der lay  freedom!  Oh,  to  escape!  He  would  journey  all 
night  through  the  lemon  groves,  whose  fragrance  reached 
him.  Once  in  the  mountains  and  he  was  safe !  He  inhaled 
the  delicious  air ;  the  breeze  revived  him,  his  lungs  ex- 
panded! He  felt  in  his  swelling  heart  the  Veni  foras  of 
Lazarus !  And  to  thank  once  more  the  God  who  had  be- 
stowed this  mercy  upon  him,  he  extended  his  arms,  raising 
his  eyes  toward  Heaven.    It  was  an  ecstasy  of  joy! 

Then  he  fancied  he  saw  the  shadow  of  his  arms  approach 
him — fancied  that  he  felt  these  shadowy  arms  inclose,  em- 
brace him — and  that  he  was  pressed  tenderly  to  some  one's 
breast.   A  tall  figure  actually  did  stand  directly  before  him. 

84 


Villiers  de  VIsle  Adam 

He  lowered  his  eyes — and  remained  motionless,  gasping- 
for  breath,  dazed,  with  fixed  eyes,  fairly  driveling  with 
terror. 

Horror!  He  was  in  the  clasp  of  the  Grand  Inquisitor 
himself,  the  venerable  Pedro  Arbuez  d'Espila,  who  gazed 
at  him  with  tearful  eyes,  like  a  good  shepherd  who  had 
found  his  stray  lamb. 

The  dark-robed  priest  pressed  the  hapless  Jew  to  his  heart 
with  so  fervent  an  outburst  of  love,  that  the  edges  of  the 
monochal  haircloth  rubbed  the  Dominican's  breast.  And 
while  Aser  Abarbanel  with  protruding  eyes  gasped  in  agony 
in  the  ascetic's  embrace,  vaguely  comprehending  that  all 
the  phases  of  this  fatal  evening  were  only  a  prearranged 
torture,  that  of  Hope,  the  Grand  Inquisitor,  with  an  accent 
of  touching  reproach  and  a  look  of  consternation,  mur- 
mured in  his  ear,  his  breath  parched  and  burning  from  long 
fasting : 

What,  my  son !  On  the  eve,  perchance,  of  salvation — 
you  wished  to  leave  us  ?  " 


85 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


The  OwPs  Ear 

the  29th  of  July,  1835,  Kasper  Boeck,  a  shepherd  of 
the  little  village  of  Hirschwiller,  with  his  large  felt  hat 
tipped  back,  his  wallet  of  stringy  sackcloth  hanging  at 
his  hip,  and  his  great  tawny  dog  at  his  heels,  presented 
himself  at  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  at  the  house 
of  the  burgomaster,  Petrus  Mauerer,  who  had  just  finished 
supper  and  was  taking  a  little  glass  of  kirchwasser  to 
facilitate  digestion. 

This  burgomaster  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  and  wore  a  bushy 
gray  mustache.  He  had  seen  service  in  the  armies  of  the 
Archduke  Charles.  He  had  a  jovial  disposition,  and  ruled 
the  village,  it  is  said,  with  his  finger  and  with  the  rod. 

"  Mr.  Burgomaster,''  cried  the  shepherd  in  evident  ex- 
citement. 

But  Petrus  Mauerer,  without  awaiting  the  end  of  his 
speech,  frowned  and  said: 

"  Kasper  Boeck,  begin  by  taking  off  your  hat,  put  your 
dog  out  of  the  room,  and  then  speak  distinctly,  intelligibly, 
without  stammering,  so  that  I  may  understand  you.'' 

Hereupon  the  burgomaster,  standing  near  the  table, 
tranquilly  emptied  his  little  glass  and  wiped  his  great  gray 
mustachios  indifferently. 

Kasper  put  his  dog  out,  and  came  back  with  his  hat  off. 

"Well!"  said  Petrus,  seeing  that  he  was  silent,  ''what 
has  happened  ?  " 

"  It  happens  that  the  spirit  has  appeared  again  in  the 
Tuins  of  Geierstein  !  " 

*'Ha!  I  doubt  it.    You've  seen  it  yourself?" 
Very  clearly,  Mr.  Burgomaster." 
Without  closing  your  eyes  ?  " 

86 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


"  Yes,  Mr.  Burgomaster — my  eyes  were  wide  open. 
There  was  plenty  of  moonlight/' 
"  What  form  did  it  have?" 
"  The  form  of  a  small  man/' 
"  Good !  " 

And  turning  toward  a  glass  door  at  the  left : 

Katel !  "  cried  the  burgomaster. 
An  old  serving  woman  opened  the  door. 
"  Sir?" 

I  am  going  out  for  a  walk — on  the  hillside — sit  up  for 
me  until  ten  o'clock.    Here's  the  key/' 
"  Yes,  sir." 

Then  the  old  soldier  took  down  his  gun  from  the  hook 
over  the  door,  examined  the  priming,  and  slung  it  over  his 
shoulder ;  then  he  addressed  Kasper  Boeck : 

Go  and  tell  the  rural  guard  to  meet  me  in  the  holly 
path,  and  tell  him  behind  the  mill.  Your  spirit  must  be 
some  marauder.  But  if  it's  a  fox,  I'll  make  a  fine  hood  of 
it,  with  long  earlaps." 

Master  Petrus  Mauerer  and  humble  Kasper  then  went 
out.  The  weather  was  superb,  the  stars  innumerable. 
While  the  shepherd  went  to  knock  at  the  rural  guard's 
door,  the  burgomaster  plunged  among  the  elder  bushes,, 
in  a  little  lane  that  wound  around  behind  the  old  church. 

Two  minutes  later  Kasper  and  Hans  Goerner,  whinger 
at  his  side,  by  running  overtook  Master  Petrus  in  the  holly 
path. 

All  three  made  their  way  together  toward  the  ruins  of 
Geierstein. 

These  ruins,  which  are  twenty  minutes'  walk  from  the 
village,  seem  to  be  insignificant  enough ;  they  consist  of 
the  ridges  of  a  few  decrepit  walls,  from  four  to  six  feet 
high,  which  extend  among  the  brier  bushes.  Archaeolo- 
gists call  them  the  aqueducts  of  Seranus,  the  Roman  camp 
of  Holderlock,  or  vestiges  of  Theodoric,  according  to  their 
fantasy.  The  only  thing  about  these  ruins  which  could 
be  considered  remarkable  is  a  stairway  to  a  cistern  cut 
in  the  rock.   Inside  of  this  spiral  staircase,  instead  of  con- 

87 


French  Mystery  Stories 

centric  circles  which  twist  around  with  each  complete 
turn,  the  involutions  become  wider  as  they  proceed,  in  such 
a  way  that  the  bottom  of  the  pit  is  three  times  as  large 
as  the  opening.  Is  it  an  architectural  freak,  or  did  some 
reasonable  cause  determine  such  an  odd  construction?  It 
matters  little  to  us.  The  result  was  to  cause  in  the  cistern 
that  vague  reverberation  which  anyone  may  hear  upon 
placing  a  shell  at  his  ear,  and  to  make  you  aware  of  steps 
on  the  gravel  path,  murmurs  of  the  air,  rustling  of  the 
leaves,  and  even  distant  words  spoken  by  people  passing 
the  foot  of  the  hill. 

Our  three  personages  then  followed  the  pathway  be- 
tween the  vineyards  and  gardens  of  Hirschwiller. 

"  I  see  nothing,''  the  burgomaster  would  say,  turning  up 
his  nose  derisively. 

Nor  I  either,"  the  rural  guard  would  repeat,  imitat- 
ing the  other's  tone. 

"  It's  down  in  the  hole,"  muttered  the  shepherd. 

^'  We  shall  see,  we  shall  see,"  returned  the  burgomaster. 

It  was  in  this  fashion,  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  that 
they  came  upon  the  opening  of  the  cistern.  As  I  have 
said,  the  night  was  clear,  limpid,  and  perfectly  still. 

The  moon  portrayed,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  one 
of  those  nocturnal  landscapes  in  bluish  lines,  studded  with 
slim  trees,  the  shadows  of  which  seemed  to  have  been 
drawn  with  a  black  crayon.  The  blooming  brier  and 
broom  perfumed  the  air  with  a  rather  sharp  odor,  and  the 
frogs  of  a  neighboring  swamp  sang  their  oily  anthem,  in- 
terspersed with  silences.  But  all  these  details  escaped  the 
notice  of  our  good  rustics;  they  thought  of  nothing  but 
laying  hands  on  the  spirit. 

When  they  had  reached  the  stairway,  all  three  stopped 
and  listened,  then  gazed  into  the  dark  shadows.  Noth- 
ing appeared — nothing  stirred. 

"  The  devil !  "  said  the  burgomaster,  we  forgot  to  bring 
a  bit  of  candle.  Descend,  Kasper,  you  know  the  way  better 
than  I — I'll  follow  you." 

At  this  proposition  the  shepherd  recoiled  promptly.  If 

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Erckmann-Chatrian 


he  had  consulted  his  incHnations  the  poor  man  would  have 
taken  to  flight ;  his  pitiful  expression  made  the  burgomas- 
ter burst  out  laughing. 

Well,  Hans,  since  he  doesn't  want  to  go  down,  show 
me  the  way,''  he  said  to  the  game  warden. 

But,  Mr.  Burgomaster,"  said  the  latter,  you  know 
very  well  that  steps  are  missing;  we  should  risk  breaking 
our  necks." 

*^  Then  what's  to  be  done?" 
Yes,  what's  to  be  done  ?  " 
Send  your  dog,"  replied  Petrus. 
The  shepherd  whistled  to  his  dog,  showed  him  the  stair- 
v/ay,  urged  him — but  he  did  not  wish  to  take  the  chances 
any  more  than  the  others. 

At  this  moment,  a  bright  idea  struck  the  rural  guards- 
man. 

Ha !  Mr.  Burgomaster,"  said  he,  "  if  you  should  fire 
your  gun  inside." 

Faith,"  cried  the  other,  "  you're  right,  we  shall  catch 
a  glimpse  at  least." 

And  without  hesitating  the  worthy  man  approached  the 
stairway  and  leveled  his  gun. 

But,  by  the  acoustic  effect  which  I  have  already  pointed 
out,  the  spirit,  the  marauder,  the  individual  who  chanced 
to  be  actually  in  the  cistern,  had  heard  everything.  The 
idea  of  stopping  a  gunshot  did  not  strike  him  as  amusing, 
for  in  a  shrill,  piercing  voice  he  cried : 
Stop  !    Don't  fire — I'm  coming." 

Then  the  three  functionaries  looked  at  each  other  and 
laughed  softly,  and  the  burgomaster,  leaning  over  the 
opening  again,  cried  rudely: 

"  Be  quick  about  it,  you  varlet,  or  I'll  shoot !  Be  quick 
about  it !  " 

He  cocked  his  gun,  and  the  click  seemed  to  hasten  the 
ascent  of  the  mysterious  person;  they  heard  him  rolHng 
down  some  stones.  Nevertheless  it  still  took  him  another 
minute  before  he  appeared,  the  cistern  being  at  a  depth 
of  sixty  feet. 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

What  was  this  man  doing  in  such  deep  darkness?  He 
must  be  some  great  criminal !  So  at  least  thought  Petrus 
Mauerer  and  his  acolytes. 

At  last  a  vague  form  could  be  discerned  in  the  dark, 
then  slowly,  by  degrees,  a  little  man,  four  and  a  half  feet 
high  at  the  most,  frail,  ragged,  his  face  withered  and  yel- 
low, his  eye  gleaming  like  a  magpie's,  and  his  hair  tangled, 
came  out  shouting: 

By  what  right  do  you  come  to  disturb  my  studies, 
wretched  creatures  ?  " 

This  grandiose  apostrophe  was  scarcely  in  accord  with 
his  costume  and  physiognomy.  Accordingly  the  burgo- 
master indignantly  replied : 

Try  to  show  that  you're  honest,  you  knave,  or  I'll  be- 
gin by  administering  a  correction." 

A  correction !  "  said  the  little  man,  leaping  with  anger, 
and  drawing  himself  up  under  the  nose  of  the  burgomaster. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other,  who,  nevertheless,  did  not  fail 
to  admire  the  pygmy's  courage ;  if  you  do  not  answer 
the  questions  satisfactorily  I  am  going  to  put  to  you.  I  am 
the  burgomaster  of  Hirschwiller;  here  are  the  rural  guard, 
the  shepherd  and  his  dog.  We  are  stronger  than  you — 
be  wise  and  tell  me  peaceably  who  you  are,  what  you  are 
doing  here,  and  why  you  do  not  dare  to  appear  in  broad 
daylight.    Then  we  shall  see  what's  to  be  done  with  you." 

"  All  that's  none  of  your  business,"  replied  the  little  man 
in  his  cracked  voice.    "  I  shall  not  answer." 

In  that  case,  forward,  march,"  ordered  the  burgomas- 
ter, who  grasped  him  firmly  by  the  nape  of  the  neck;  you 
are  going  to  sleep  in  prison." 

The  little  man  writhed  like  a  weasel ;  he  even  tried  to 
bite,  and  the  dog  was  sniffing  at  the  calves  of  his  legs, 
when,  quite  exhausted,  he  said,  not  without  a  certain 
dignity : 

"  Let  go,  sir,  I  surrender  to  superior  force — I'm  yours !  " 
The  burgomaster,  who  was  not  entirely  lacking  in  good 
breeding,  became  calmer. 

Do  you  promise?  "  said  he. 

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Erckmann-Chatrian 


I  promise  ! 

Very  well — walk  in  front.'' 

And  that  is  how,  on  the  night  of  the  29th  of  July,  1835, 
the  burgomaster  took  captive  a  little  red-haired  man,  issu- 
ing from  the  cavern  of  Geierstein. 

Upon  arriving  at  Hirschwiller  the  rural  guard  ran  to 
find  the  key  of  the  prison  and  the  vagabond  was  locked  in 
and  double-locked,  not  to  forget  the  outside  bolt  and  pad- 
lock. 

Everyone  then  could  repose  after  his  fatigues,  and  Petrus 
Mauerer  went  to  bed  and  dreamed  till  midnight  of  this 
singular  adventure. 

On  the  morrow,  toward  nine  o'clock,  Hans  Goerner,  the 
rural  guard,  having  been  ordered  to  bring  the  prisoner  to 
the  town  house  for  another  examination,  repaired  to  the 
cooler  with  four  husky  daredevils.  They  opened  the  door, 
all  of  them  curious  to  look  upon  the  Will-o'-the-wisp.  But 
imagine  their  astonishment  upon  seeing  him  hanging  from 
the  bars  of  the  window  by  his  necktie !  Some  said  that  he 
was  still  writhing;  others  that  he  was  already  stiff.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  they  ran  to  Petrus  Mauerer's  house 
to  inform  him  of  the  fact,  and  what  is  certain  is  that 
upon  the  latter's  arrival  the  little  man  had  breathed  his 
last. 

The  justice  of  the  peace  and  the  doctor  of  Hirschwiller 
drew  up  a  formal  statement  of  the  catastrophe ;  then  they 
buried  the  unknown  in  a  field  of  meadow  grass  and  it  was 
all  over! 

Now  about  three  weeks  after  these  occurrences,  I  went 
to  see  my  cousin,  Petrus  Mauerer,  whose  nearest  relative 
I  was,  and  consequently  his  heir.  This  circumstance  sus- 
tained an  intimate  acquaintance  between  us.  We  were  at 
dinner,  talking  on  indifferent  matters,  when  the  burgo- 
master recounted  the  foregoing  little  story,  as  I  have  just 
reported  it. 

"  'Tis  strange,  cousin,"  said  I,    truly  strange.   And  you 
have  no  other  information  concerning  the  unknown  ?  " 
"  None." 


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French  Mystery  Stories 

"  And  you  have  found  nothing  which  could  give  you  a 
clew  as  to  his  purpose  ?  " 

Absolutely  nothing,  Christian/' 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  what  could  he  have  been  doing 
in  the  cistern  ?    On  what  did  he  live  ?  " 

The  burgomaster  shrugged  his  shoulders,  refilled  our 
glasses,  and  replied  with : 

To  your  health,  cousin. 

To  yours." 

We  remained  silent  a  few  minutes.  It  was  impossible 
for  me  to  accept  the  abrupt  conclusion  of  the  adventure, 
and,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  mused  with  some  melancholy  on 
the  sad  fate  of  certain  men  who  appear  and  disappear  in 
this  world  like  the  grass  of  the  field,  without  leaving  the 
least  memory  or  the  least  regret. 

Cousin,''  I  resumed,  "  how  far  may  it  be  from  here  to 
the  ruins  of  Geierstein  ?  " 

''Twenty  minutes'  walk  at  the  most.  Why?'' 
Because  I  should  like  to  see  them." 

"  You  know  that  we  have  a  meeting  of  the  municipal 
council,  and  that  I  can't  accompany  you." 

"  Oh !  I  can  find  them  by  myself." 

"  No,  the  rural  guard  will  show  you  the  way ;  he  has 
nothing  better  to  do." 

And  my  worthy  cousin,  having  rapped  on  his  glass, 
called  his  servant : 

Katel,  go  and  find  Hans  Goerner — let  him  hurry,  and 
get  here  by  two  o'clock.    I  must  be  going." 

The  servant  went  out  and  the  rural  guard  was  not  tardy 
in  coming. 

He  was  directed  to  take  me  to  the  ruins. 

While  the  burgomaster  proceeded  gravely  toward  the 
hall  of  the  municipal  council,  we  were  already  climbing 
the  hill.  Hans  Goerner,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  indicated 
the  remains  of  the  aqueduct.  At  the  same  moment  the 
rocky  ribs  of  the  plateau,  the  blue  distances  of  Hundsriick, 
the  sad  crumbling  walls  covered  with  somber  ivy,  the  toll- 
ing of  the  Hirschwiller  bell  summoning  the  notables  to  the 

92 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


council,  the  rural  guardsman  panting  and  catching  at  the 
brambles — assumed  in  my  eyes  a  sad  and  severe  tinge,  for 
which  I  could  not  account:  it  was  the  story  of  the  hanged 
man  which  took  the  color  out  of  the  prospect. 

The  cistern  staircase  struck  me  as  being  exceedingly 
curious,  with  its  elegant  spiral.  The  bushes  bristling  in  the 
fissures  at  every  step,  the  deserted  aspect  of  its  surround- 
ings, all  harmonized  with  my  sadness.  We  descended,  and 
soon  the  luminous  point  of  the  opening,  which  seemed 
to  contract  more  and  more,  and  to  take  the  shape  of  a 
star  with  curved  rays,  alone  sent  us  its  pale  light.  When 
we  attained  the  very  bottom  of  the  cistern,  we  found  a 
superb  sight  was  to  be  had  of  all  those  steps,  lighted  from 
above  and  cutting  ofif  their  shadows  with  marvelous  pre- 
cision. I  then  heard  the  hum  of  which  I  have  already 
spoken:  the  immense  granite  conch  had  as  many  echoes 
as  stones! 

Has  nobody  been  down  here  since  the  little  man  ?  " 
I  asked  the  rural  guardsman. 

No,  sir.  The  peasants  are  afraid.  They  imagine  that 
the  hanged  man  will  return." 

And  you?" 

I — oh,  Fm  not  curious." 

But  the  justice  of  the  peace?    His  duty  was  to  " 

Ha  !   What  could  he  have  come  to  the  Owl's  Ear  for? 

"  They  call  this  the  Owl's  Ear?  " 

"  Yes." 

That's  pretty  near  it,"  said  I,  raising  my  eyes.  This 
reversed  vault  forms  the  pavilion  well  enough;  the  under 
side  of  the  steps  makes  the  covering  of  the  tympanum,  and 
the  winding  of  the  staircase  the  cochlea,  the  labyrinth,  and 
vestibule  of  the  ear.  That  is  the  cause  of  the  murmur  which 
we  hear:  we  are  at  the  back  of  a  colossal  ear." 

It's  very  likely,"  said  Hans  Goerner,  who  did  not  seem 
to  have  understood  my  observations. 

We  started  up  again,  and  I  had  ascended  the  first  steps 
when  I  felt  something  crush  under  my  foot ;  I  stopped  to 
see  what  it  could  be,  and  at  that  moment  perceived  a  white 

93 


French  Mystery  Stories 

object  before  me.  It  was  a  torn  sheet  of  paper.  As  for 
the  hard  object,  which  I  had  felt  grinding  up,  I  recognized 
it  as  a  sort  of  glazed  earthenware  jug. 

"  Aha !  "  I  said  to  myself ;  this  may  clear  up  the  burgo- 
master's story.'' 

I  rejoined  Hans  Goerner,  who  was  now  waiting  for  me 
at  the  edge  of  the  pit. 

Now,  sir,''  cried  he^    where  would  you  like  to  go  ?  " 

"  First,  let's  sit  down  for  a  while.  We  shall  see  pres- 
ently." 

I  sat  down  on  a  large  stone,  while  the  rural  guard  cast 
his  falcon  eyes  over  the  village  to  see  if  there  chanced  to 
be  any  trespassers  in  the  gardens.  I  carefully  examined 
the  glazed  vase,  of  which  nothing  but  splinters  remained. 
These  fragments  presented  the  appearance  of  a  funnel, 
lined  with  wool.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  perceive  its 
purpose.  I  then  read  the  piece  of  a  letter,  written  in  an 
easy  running  and  firm  hand.  I  transcribe  it  here  below, 
word  for  word.  It  seems  to  follow  the  other  half  of  the 
sheet,  for  which  I  looked  vainly  all  about  the  ruins : 

"  My  mieracoustic  ear  trumpet  thus  has  the  double  advan- 
tage of  infinitely  multiplying  the  intensity  of  sounds,  and 
of  introducing  them  into  the  ear  without  causing  the  ob- 
server the  least  discomfort.  You  would  never  have  imag- 
ined, dear  master,  the  charm  which  one  feels  in  perceiving 
these  thousands  of  imperceptible  sounds  which  are  con- 
founded, on  a  fine  summer  day,  in  an  immense  murmur- 
ing. The  bumble-bee  has  his  song  as  well  as  the  nightin- 
gale, the  honey-bee  is  the  warbler  of  the  mosses,  the 
cricket  is  the  lark  of  the  tall  grass,  the  maggot  is  the  wren 
— it  has  only  a  sigh,  but  the  sigh  is  melodious ! 

"  This  discovery,  from  the  point  of  view  of  sentiment, 
which  makes  us  live  in  the  universal  life,  surpasses  in  its 
importance  all  that  I  could  say  on  the  matter. 

After  so  much  suffering,  privations,  and  weariness,  how 
happy  it  makes  one  to  reap  the  rewards  of  all  his  labors ! 
How  the  soul  soars  toward  the  divine  Author  of  all  these 

94 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


microscopic  worlds,  the  magnificence  of  which  is  revealed 
to  us !  Where  now  are  the  long  hours  of  anguish,  hunger, 
contempt,  which  overwhelmed  us  before?  Gone,  sir,  gone! 
Tears  of  gratitude  moisten  our  eyes.  One  is  proud  to  have 
achieved,  through  suffering,  new  joys  for  humanity  and 
to  have  contributed  to  its  mental  development.  But  how- 
soever vast,  howsoever  admirable  may  be  the  first  fruits 
of  my  micracoustic  ear  trumpet,  these  do  not  delimit  its 
advantages.  There  are  more  positive  ones,  more  material, 
and  ones  which  may  be  expressed  in  figures. 

"  Just  as  the  telescope  brought  the  discovery  of  myriads 
of  worlds  performing  their  harmonious  revolutions  in  in- 
finite space — so  also  wall  my  micracoustic  ear  trumpet  ex- 
tend the  sense  of  the  unbearable  beyond  all  possible 
bounds.  Thus,  sir,  the  circulation  of  the  blood  and  the 
fluids  of  the  body  will  not  give  me  pause;  you  shall  hear 
them  flow  with  the  impetuosity  of  cataracts ;  you  shall  per- 
ceive them  so  distinctly  as  to  startle  you;  the  slightest 
irregularity  of  the  pulse,  the  least  obstacle,  is  striking,  and 
produces  the  same  effect  as  a  rock  against  which  the  waves 
of  a  torrent  are  dashing! 

"  It  is  doubtless  an  immense  conquest  in  the  develop- 
ment of  our  knowledge  of  physiology  and  pathology,  but 
this  is  not  the  point  on  which  I  would  emphasize.  Upon 
applying  your  ear  to  the  ground,  sir,  you  may  hear  the 
mineral  waters  springing  up  at  immeasurable  depths ;  you 
may  judge  of  their  volume,  their  currents,  and  the  ob- 
stacles which  they  meet! 

"  Do  you  wish  to  go  further?  Enter  a  subterranean 
vault  which  is  so  constructed  as  to  gather  a  quantity  of 
loud  sounds ;  then  at  night  when  the  world  sleeps,  when 
nothing  will  be  confused  with  the  interior  noises  of  our 
globe — listen! 

"  Sir,  all  that  it  is  possible  for  me  to  tell  you  at  the 
present  moment — for  in  the  midst  of  my  profound  misery, 
of  my  privations,  and  often  of  my  despair,  I  am  left  only 
a  few  lucid  instants  to  pursue  my  geological  observations — 
all  that  I  can  affirm  is  that  the  seething  of  glow  worms, 

95 


French  Mystery  Stories 

the  explosions  of  boiling  fluids,  is  something  terrifying 
and  sublime,  which  can  only  be  compared  to  the  impres- 
sion of  the  astronomer  whose  glass  fathoms  depths  of 
limitless  extent. 

Nevertheless,  I  must  avow  that  these  impressions 
should  be  studied  further  and  classified  in  a  methodical 
manner,  in  order  that  definite  conclusions  may  be  derived 
therefrom.  Likewise,  as  soon  as  you  shall  have  deigned, 
dear  and  noble  master,  to  transmit  the  little  sum  for  use  at 
Neustadt  as  I  asked,  to  supply  my  first  needs,  we  shall 
see  our  way  to  an  understanding  in  regard  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  three  great  subterranean  observatories,  one  in 
the  valley  of  Catania,  another  in  Iceland,  then  a  third  in 
Capac-Uren,  Songay,  or  Cayembe-Uren,  the  deepest  of 
the  Cordilleras,  and  consequently  " 

Here  the  letter  stopped. 

I  let  my  hands  fall  in  stupefaction.  Had  I  read  the  con- 
ceptions of  an  idiot — or  the  inspirations  of  a  genius  which 
had  been  realized?  What  am  I  to  say?  to  think?  So 
this  man,  this  miserable  creature,  living  at  the  bottom  of 
a  burrow  like  a  fox,  dying  of  hunger,  had  had  perhaps 
one  of  those  inspirations  which  the  Supreme  Being  sends 
on  earth  to  enlighten  future  generations ! 

And  this  man  had  hanged  himself  in  disgust,  despair! 
No  one  had  answered  his  prayer,  though  he  asked  only 
for  a  crust  of  bread  in  exchange  for  his  discovery.  It 
was  horrible.  Long,  long  I  sat  there  dreaming,  thanking 
Heaven  for  having  limited  my  intelligence  to  the  needs  of 
ordinary  life — for  not  having  desired  to  make  me  a  superior 
man  in  the  community  of  martyrs.  At  length  the  rural 
guardsman,  seeing  me  with  fixed  gaze  and  mouth  agape, 
made  so  bold  as  to  touch  me  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Mr.  Christian,"  said  he,  see— it's  getting  late— the 
burgomaster  must  have  come  back  from  the  council." 

"  Ha !  That's  a  fact,"  cried  I,  crumpling  up  the  paper, 
"  come  on." 

We  descended  the  hill. 

96 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


My  worthy  cousin  met  me,  with  a  smiling  face,  at  the 
threshold  of  his  house. 

"Well!  well!  Christian,  so  youVe  found  no  trace  of  the 
imbecile  who  hanged  himself?'' 

"  No." 

I  thought  as  much.  He  was  some  lunatic  who  escaped 
from  Stefansfeld  or  somewhere —  Faith,  he  did  well  to 
hang  himself.  When  one  is  good  for  nothing,  that's  the 
simplest  way  for  it." 

The  following  day  I  left  Hirschwiller.  I  shall  never  re- 
turn. 

T/ie  Invisible  Eye 

About  this  time  (said  Christian),  poor  as  a  church 
mouse,  I  took  refuge  in  the  roof  of  an  old  house  in  Minne- 
Sanger  Street,  Nuremberg,  and  made  my  nest  in  the  corner 
of  the  garret. 

I  was  compelled  to  work  over  my  straw  bed  to  reach  the 
window,  but  this  window  was  in  the  gable  end,  and  the 
view  from  it  was  magnificent,  both  town  and  country  be- 
ing spread  out  before  me. 

I  could  see  the  cats  walking  gravely  in  the  gutters ;  the 
storks,  their  beaks  filled  with  frogs,  carrying  nourishment 
to  their  ravenous  brood ;  the  pigeons,  springing  from  their 
cotes,  their  tails  spread  like  fans,  hovering  over  the  streets. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  bells  called  the  world  to  the 
Angelus,  with  my  elbows  upon  the  edge  of  the  roof,  I 
listened  to  their  melancholy  chimes;  I  watched  the  win- 
dows as,  one  by  one,  they  were  lighted  up ;  the  good 
burghers  smoking  their  pipes  on  the  sidewalks ;  the  young 
girls  in  their  red  skirts,  with  their  pitchers  under  their 
arms,  laughing  and  chatting  around  the  fountain  Saint 
Sebalt."  Insensibly  all  this  faded  away,  the  bats  com- 
menced their  rapid  course,  and  I  retired  to  my  mattress 
in  sweet  peace  and  tranquillity. 

The  old  curiosity  seller,  Toubac,  knew  the  way  to  my 

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little  lodging  as  well  as  I  did,  and  was  not  afraid  to  climb 
the  ladder.  Every  week  his  ugly  head,  adorned  with  a  red- 
dish cap,  raised  the  trapdoor,  his  fingers  grasped  the  ledge, 
and  he  cried  out  in  a  nasal  tone : 

Well,  well.  Master  Christian,  have  you  anything?" 
To  which  I  replied : 

''Come  in.  Why  in  the  devil  don't  you  come  in?  I 
am  just  finishing  a  little  landscape,  and  you  must  tell  me 
what  you  think  of  it." 

Then  his  great  back,  seeming  to  elongate,  grew  up,  even 
to  the  roof,  and  the  good  man  laughed  silently. 

I  must  do  justice  to  Toubac :  he  never  haggled  with  me 
about  prices ;  he  bought  all  my  paintings  at  fifteen  florins, 
one  with  the  other,  and  sold  them  again  for  forty  each. 

This  was  an  honest  Jew !  " 

I  began  to  grow  fond  of  this  mode  of  existence,  and  to 
find  new  charms  in  it  day  by  day. 

Just  at  this  time  the  city  of  Nuremberg  was  agitated  by 
a  strange  and  mysterious  event.  Not  far  from  my  dormer 
window,  a  little  to  the  left,  stood  the  Inn  Boeuf-Gras,  an  old 
auberge  much  patronized  throughout  the  country.  Three 
or  four  wagons,  filled  with  sacks  or  casks,  were  always 
drawn  up  before  the  door,  where  the  rustic  drivers  were 
in  the  habit  of  stopping,  on  their  way  to  the  market,  to 
take  their  morning  draught  of  wine. 

The  gable  end  of  the  inn  was  distinguished  by  its  peculiar 
form.  It  was  very  narrow,  pointed,  and,  on  two  sides,  cut- 
in  teeth,  like  a  saw.  The  carvings  were  strangely  grotesque, 
interwoven  and  ornamenting  the  cornices  and  surrounding 
the  windows ;  but  the  most  remarkable  fact  was  that  the 
house  opposite  reproduced  exactly  the  same  sculptures,  the 
same  ornaments;  even  the  signboard,  with  its  post  and 
spiral  of  iron,  was  exactly  copied. 

One  might  have  thought  that  these  two  ancient  houses 
reflected  each  other.  Behind  the  inn,  however,  was  a  grand 
old  oak,  whose  somber  leaves  darkened  the  stones  of  the 
roof,  while  the  other  house  stood  out  in  bold  relief  against 
the  sky.   To  complete  the  description,  this  old  building  was 

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as  silent  and  dreary  as  the  Inn  Boeuf-Gras  was  noisy  and 
animated. 

On  one  side,  a  crowd  of  merry  drinkers  were  continually 
entering  in  and  going  out,  singing,  tripping,  cracking  their 
whips ;  on  the  other,  profound  silence  reigned. 

Perhaps,  once  or  twice  during  the  day,  the  heavy  door 
seemed  to  open  of  itself,  to  allow  a  little  old  woman  to  go 
out,  with  her  back  almost  in  a  semicircle,  her  dress  fitting 
tight  about  her  hips,  an  enormous  basket  on  her  arm,  and 
her  hand  contracted  against  her  breast. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  at  a  glance,  as  I  looked  upon 
her,  a  whole  existence  of  good  works  and  pious  medita- 
tions. 

The  physiognomy  of  this  old  woman  had  struck  me  more 
than  once:  her  little  green  eyes,  long,  thin  nose,  the  im- 
mense bouquets  of  flowers  on  her  shawl,  which  must  have 
been  at  least  a  hundred  years  old,  the  withered  smile  which 
puckered  her  cheeks  into  a  cockade,  the  lace  of  her  bonnet 
falling  down  to  her  eyebrows — all  this  was  fantastic,  and 
interested  me  much.  Why  did  this  old  woman  live  in  this 
great  deserted  house  ?    I  wished  to  explore  the  mystery. 

One  day  as  I  paused  in  the  street  and  followed  her  with 
my  eyes,  she  turned  suddenly  and  gave  me  a  look,  the  hor- 
rible expression  of  which  I  know  not  how  to  paint;  made 
three  or  four  hideous  grimaces,  and  then,  letting  her  palsied 
head  fall  upon  her  breast,  drew  her  great  shawl  closely 
around  her,  and  advanced  slowly  to  the  heavy  door,  behind 
which  I  saw  her  disappear. 

"  She's  an  old  fool ! I  said  to  myself,  in  a  sort  of  stupor. 
My  faith,  it  was  the  height  of  folly  in  me  to  be  interested 
in  her! 

However,  I  would  like  to  see  her  grimace  again ;  old 
Toubac  would  willingly  give  me  fifteen  florins  if  I  could 
paint  it  for  him, 

I  must  confess  that  these  pleasantries  of  mine  did  not 
entirely  reassure  me. 

The  hideous  glance  which  the  old  shrew  had  given  me 
pursued  me  everywhere.    More  than  once,  while  climbing 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

the  almost  perpendicular  ladder  to  my  loft,  feeling  my  cloth- 
ing caught  on  some  point,  I  trembled  from  head  to  foot, 
imagining  that  the  old  wretch  was  hanging  to  the  tails  of 
my  coat  in  order  to  destroy  me. 

Toubac,  to  whom  I  related  this  adventure,  was  far  from 
laughing  at  it ;  indeed,  he  assumed  a  grave  and  solemn  air. 

"  Master  Christian/'  said  he,  "  if  the  old  woman  wants 
you,  take  care !  Her  teeth  are  small,  pointed,  and  of  mar- 
velous whiteness,  and  that  is  not  natural  at  her  age.  She 
has  an  '  evil  eye.'  Children  flee  from  her,  and  the  people 
of  Nuremberg  call  her  '  Fledermausse.'  " 

I  admired  the  clear,  sagacious  intellect  of  the  Jew,  and 
his  words  gave  me  cause  for  reflection. 

Several  weeks  passed  away,  during  which  I  often  en- 
countered Fledermausse  without  any  alarming  conse- 
quences. My  fears  were  dissipated,  and  I  thought  of  her 
no  more. 

But  an  evening  came,  during  which,  while  sleeping  very 
soundly,  I  was  awakened  by  a  strange  harmony.  It  was  a 
kind  of  vibration,  so  sweet,  so  melodious,  that  the  whisper- 
ing of  the  breeze  among  the  leaves  can  give  but  a  faint  idea 
of  its  charm. 

For  a  long  time  I  listened  intently,  with  my  eyes  wide 
open,  and  holding  my  breath,  so  as  not  to  lose  a  note.  At 
last  I  looked  toward  the  window,  and  saw  two  wings  flut- 
tering against  the  glass.  I  thought,  at  first,  that  it  was  a 
bat,  caught  in  my  room ;  but,  the  moon  rising  at  that  in- 
stant, I  saw  the  wings  of  a  magnificent  butterfly  of  the 
night  delineated  upon  her  shining  disk.  Their  vibrations 
were  often  so  rapid  that  they  could  not  be  distinguished ; 
then  they  reposed,  extended  upon  the  glass,  and  their  frail 
fibers  were  again  brought  to  view. 

This  misty  apparition,  coming  in  the  midst  of  the  uni- 
versal silence,  opened  my  heart  to  all  sweet  emotions.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  an  airy  sylph,  touched  with  a  sense  of 
my  solitude,  had  come  to  visit  me,  and  this  idea  melted  me 
almost  to  tears. 

Be  tranquil,  sweet  captive,  be  tranquil,"  said  I ;  your 

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confidence  shall  not  be  abused.  I  will  not  keep  you  against 
your  will.  Return  to  heaven  and  to  liberty."  I  then  opened 
my  little  window.  The  night  was  calm,  and  millions  of 
stars  were  glittering  in  the  sky.  For  a  moment  I  contem- 
plated this  sublime  spectacle,  and  words  of  prayer  and 
praise  came  naturally  to  my  lips ;  but,  judge  of  my  amaze- 
ment, when,  lowering  my  eyes,  I  saw  a  man  hanging  from 
the  crossbeam  of  the  sign  of  the  Boeuf-Gras,  the  hair 
disheveled,  the  arms  stiff,  the  legs  elongated  to  a  point,  and 
casting  their  gigantic  shadows  down  to  the  street ! 

The  immobility  of  this  figure  under  the  moon's  rays  was 
terrible.  I  felt  my  tongue  freezing,  my  teeth  clinched.  I 
was  about  to  cry  out  in  terror  when,  by  some  incompre- 
hensible mysterious  attraction,  my  glance  fell  below,  and  I 
distinguished,  confusedly,  the  old  woman  crouched  at  her 
window  in  the  midst  of  dark  shadows,  and  contemplating 
the  dead  man  with  an  air  of  diabolic  satisfaction. 

Then  I  had  a  vertigo  of  terror.  All  my  strength  aban- 
doned me,  and,  retreating  to  the  wall  of  my  loft,  I  sank 
down  and  became  insensible. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  this  sleep  of  death  continued. 
When  restored  to  consciousness,  I  saw  that  it  was  broad 
day.  The  mists  of  the  night  had  penetrated  to  my  garret, 
and  deposited  their  fresh  dew  upon  my  hair,  and  the  con- 
fused murmurs  of  the  street  ascended  to  my  little  lodging. 
I  looked  without.  The  burgomaster  and  his  secretary  were 
stationed  at  the  door  of  the  inn,  and  remained  there  a  long 
time;  crowds  of  people  came  and  went,  and  paused  to  look 
in ;  then  recommenced  their  course.  The  good  women  of 
the  neighborhood,  who  were  sweeping  before  their  doors, 
looked  on  from  afar,  and  talked  gravely  with  each  other. 

At  last  a  litter,  and  upon  this  litter  a  body,  covered  with 
a  linen  cloth,  issued  from  the  inn,  carried  by  two  men. 
They  descended  to  the  street,  and  the  children,  on  their  way 
to  school,  ran  behind  them. 

All  the  people  drew  back  as  they  advanced. 

The  window  opposite  was  still  open ;  the  end  of  a  rope 
floated  from  the  crossbeam. 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

I  had  not  dreamed.  I  had,  indeed,  seen  the  butterfly  of 
the  night;  I  had  seen  the  man  hanging,  and  I  had  seen 
Fledermausse. 

That  day  Toubac  made  me  a  visit,  and,  as  his  great  nose 
appeared  on  a  level  with  the  floor,  he  exclaimed: 
Master  Christian,  have  you  nothing  to  sell  ?  " 

I  did  not  hear  him.  I  was  seated  upon  my  one  chair, 
my  hands  clasped  upon  my  knees,  and  my  eyes  fixed  be- 
fore me. 

Toubac,  surprised  at  my  inattention,  repeated  in  a  louder 
voice : 

Master  Christian,  Master  Christian !  "    Then,  striding 
over  the  sill,  he  advanced  and  struck  me  on  the  shoulder. 
"  Well,  well,  what  is  the  matter  now  ? 
"Ah,  is  that  you,  Toubac?'' 

Eh,  parbleul    I  rather  think  so;  are  you  ill?  " 
"  No,  I  am  only  thinking." 

What  in  the  devil  are  you  thinking  about  ?  " 
"  Of  the  man  who  was  hanged." 
Oh,  oh !  "  cried  the  curiosity  vender.      You  have  seen 
him,  then  ?  The  poor  boy !   What  a  singular  history !  The 
third  in  the  same  place." 
"How— the  third?" 

"  Ah,  yes !  I  ought  to  have  warned  you ;  but  it  is  not  too 
late.  There  will  certainly  be  a  fourth,  who  will  follow  the 
example  of  the  others.  //  n'y  a  que  le  premier  pas  qui 
coute,'' 

Saying  this,  Toubac  took  a  seat  on  the  corner  of  my 
trunk,  struck  his  match-box,  Hghted  his  pipe,  and  blew 
three  or  four  powerful  whiffs  of  smoke  with  a  meditative 
air. 

"  My  faith,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  fearful ;  but,  if  I  had  full 
permission  to  pass  the  night  in  that  chamber,  I  should 
much  prefer  to  sleep  elsewhere. 

"  Listen,  Master  Christian.  Nine  or  ten  months  ago  a 
good  man  of  Tubingen,  wholesale  dealer  in  furs,  dismounted 
at  the  Inn  Boeuf-Gras.  He  called  for  supper ;  he  ate  well ; 
he  drank  well;  and  was  finally  conducted  to  that  room  in 

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Erckmann-Chatrian 


the  third  story — it  is  called  the  Green  Room.  Well,  the 
next  morning  he  was  found  hanging  to  the  crossbeam  of 
the  signboard. 

"  Well,  that  might  do  for  once ;  nothing  could  be  said. 
Every  proper  investigation  was  made,  and  the  stranger 
was  buried  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden.  But,  look  you, 
about  six  months  afterwards  a  brave  soldier  from  Neustadt 
arrived ;  he  had  received  his  final  discharge,  and  was  re- 
joicing in  the  thought  of  returning  to  his  native  village. 
During  the  whole  evening,  while  emptying  his  wine  cups^ 
he  spoke  fondly  of  his  little  cousin  who  was  waiting  to 
marry  him.  At  last  this  big  monsieur  was  conducted  to 
his  room — the  Green  Room — and,  the  same  night,  the 
watchman,  passing  down  the  street  Minnesanger,  perceived 
something  hanging  to  the  crossbeam ;  he  raised  his  lantern^ 
and  lo !  it  was  the  soldier,  with  his  final  discharge  in  a  bow 
on  his  left  hip,  and  his  hands  gathered  up  to  the  seam  of 
his  pantaloons,  as  if  on  parade. 

"  *  Truth  to  say,  this  is  extraordinary ! '  cried  the  burgo- 
master ;  '  the  devil's  to  pay.'  Well,  the  chamber  was  much 
visited;  the  walls  were  replastered,  and  the  dead  man  was 
sent  to  Neustadt. 

The  registrar  wrote  this  marginal  note : 

"  '  Died  of  apoplexy.' 
All  Nuremberg  was  enraged  against  the  innkeeper. 
There  were  many,  indeed,  who  wished  to  force  him  to  take 
down  his  iron  crossbeam,  under  the  pretext  that  it  inspired 
people  with  dangerous  ideas ;  but  you  may  well  believe 
that  old  Michael  Schmidt  would  not  lend  his  ear  to  this 
proposition. 

"  '  This  crossbeam,'  said  he,  '  was  placed  here  by  my 
grandfather;  it  has  borne  the  sign  of  Boeuf-Gras  for  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years,  from  father  to  son;  it  harms  no 
one,  not  even  the  hay  wagons  which  pass  beneath,  for  it  is 
thirty  feet  above  them.  Those  who  don't  like  it  can  turn 
their  heads  aside,  and  not  see  it' 

"  Well,  gradually  the  town  calmed  down,  and,  during 
several  months,  no  new  event  agitated  it.    Unhappily,  a 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

student  of  Heidelberg,  returning  to  the  university,  stopped, 
day  before  yesterday,  at  the  Inn  Boeuf-Gras,  and  asked  for 
lodging.    He  was  the  son  of  a  minister  of  the  gospel. 

How  could  anyone  suppose  that  the  son  of  a  pastor 
could  conceive  the  idea  of  hanging  himself  on  the  cross- 
beam of  a  signboard,  because  a  big  monsieur  and  an  old 
soldier  had  done  so  ?  We  must  admit.  Master  Christian, 
that  the  thing  was  not  probable ;  these  reasons  would  not 
have  seemed  sufficient  to  myself  or  to  you.'' 

"  Enough,  enough !  "  I  exclaimed ;  this  is  too  horrible ! 
I  see  a  frightful  mystery  involved  in  all  this.  It  is  not  the 
crossbeam;  it  is  not  the  room  " 

"  What !  Do  you  suspect  the  innkeeper,  the  most  honest 
man  in  the  world,  and  belonging  to  one  of  the  oldest  fam- 
ilies in  Nuremberg?" 

No,  no ;  may  God  preserve  me  from  indulging  in  unjust 
suspicions!  but  there  is  an  abyss  before  me,  into  which  I 
scarcely  dare  glance.'' 

You  are  right,"  said  Toubac,  astonished  at  the  violence 
of  my  excitement.  We  will  speak  of  other  things. 
Apropos,  Master  Christian,  where  is  our  landscape  of '  Saint 
Odille'?" 

This  question  brought  me  back  to  the  world  of  realities. 
I  showed  the  old  man  the  painting  I  had  just  completed. 
The  afifair  was  soon  concluded,  and  Toubac,  well  satisfied, 
descended  the  ladder,  entreating  me  to  think  no  more  of 
the  student  of  Heidelberg. 

I  would  gladly  have  followed  my  good  friend's  counsel ; 
but,  when  the  devil  once  mixes  himself  up  in  our  concerns, 
it  is  not  easy  to  disembarrass  ourselves  of  him. 

In  my  solitary  hours  all  these  events  were  reproduced 
with  frightful  distinctness  in  my  mind. 

This  old  wretch,"  I  said  to  myself,  is  the  cause  of  it 
all ;  she  alone  has  conceived  these  crimes,  and  has  con- 
summated them.  But  by  what  means?  Has  she  had  re- 
course to  cunning  alone,  or  has  she  obtained  the  interven- 
tion of  invisible  powers  ? "  I  walked  to  and  fro  in  my 
retreat.   An  inward  voice  cried  out :  "  It  is  not  in  vain  that 

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Erckmann-Chatrian 


Providence  permitted  you  to  see  Fledermausse  contemplat- 
ing the  agonies  of  her  victim.  It  is  not  in  vain  that  the 
soul  of  the  poor  young  man  came  in  the  form  of  a  butterfly 
of  the  night  to  awake  you.  No,  no ;  all  this  was  not  acci- 
dental, Christian.  The  heavens  impose  upon  you  a  terrible 
mission.  If  you  do  not  accomplish  it,  tremble  lest  you 
fall  yourself  into  the  hands  of  the  old  murderess !  Per- 
haps, at  this  moment,  she  is  preparing  her  snares  in  the 
darkness." 

During  several  days  these  hideous  images  followed  me 
without  intermission.  I  lost  my  sleep ;  it  was  impossible 
for  me  to  do  anything ;  my  brush  fell  from  my  hand ;  and, 
horrible  to  confess,  I  found  myself  sometimes  gazing  at  the 
crossbeam  with  a  sort  of  complacency.  At  last  I  could  en- 
dure it  no  longer,  and  one  evening  I  descended  the  ladder 
and  hid  myself  behind  the  door  of  Fledermausse,  hoping 
to  surprise  her  fatal  secret. 

From  that  time  no  day  passed  in  which  I  was  not  en  route, 
following  the  old  wretch,  watching,  spying,  never  losing 
sight  of  her ;  but  she  was  so  cunning,  had  a  scent  so  subtile 
that,  without  even  turning  her  head,  she  knew  I  was  behind 
her. 

However,  she  feigned  not  to  perceive  this ;  she  went  to 
the  market,  to  the  butcher's,  like  any  good,  simple  woman, 
only  hastening  her  steps  and  murmuring  confused  words. 

At  the  close  of  the  month  I  saw  that  it  was  impossible 
for  me  to  attain  my  object  in  this  way,  and  this  conviction 
made  me  inexpressibly  sad. 

What  can  I  do  ?  "  I  said  to  myself.  The  old  woman 
divines  my  plans;  she  is  on  her  guard;  every  hope  aban- 
dons me.  Ah!  old  hag,  you  think  you  already  see  me  at 
the  end  of  your  rope.''  I  was  continually  asking  myself 
this  question:  What  can  I  do?  what  can  I  do?"  At  last 
a  luminous  idea  struck  me.  My  chamber  overlooked  the 
house  of  Fledermausse;  but  there  was  no  window  on  this 
side.  I  adroitly  raised  a  slate,  and  no  pen  could  paint  my 
joy  when  the  whole  ancient  building  was  thus  exposed  to 
me.    "At  last,  I  have  you!"  I  exclaimed;    you  cannot 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

escape  me  now;  from  here  I  can  see  all  that  passes — your 
goings,  your  comings,  your  arts  and  snares.  You  will  not 
suspect  this  invisible  eye — this  watchful  eye,  which  will 
surprise  crime  at  the  moment  it  blooms.  Oh,  Justice,. 
Justice!    She  marches  slowly;  but  she  arrives." 

Nothing  could  be  more  sinister  than  the  den  now  spread 
out  before  me — a  great  courtyard,  the  large  slabs  of  which 
were  covered  with  moss;  in  one  corner,  a  well,  whose 
stagnant  waters  you  shuddered  to  look  upon;  a  stairway 
covered  with  old  shells;  at  the  farther  end  a  gallery,  with 
wooden  balustrade,  and  hanging  upon  it  some  old  linen 
and  the  tick  of  an  old  straw  mattress;  on  the  first  floor, 
to  the  left,  the  stone  covering  of  a  common  sev/er  indicated 
the  kitchen ;  to  the  right  the  lofty  window^s  of  the  building 
looked  out  upon  the  street;  then  a  few  pots  of  dried,  with- 
ered flowers — all  was  cracked,  somber,  moist.  Only  one 
or  two  hours  during  the  day  could  the  sun  penetrate  this 
loathsome  spot;  after  that,  the  shadows  took  possession; 
then  the  sunshine  fell  upon  the  crazy  walls,  the  worm-eaten 
balcony,  the  dull  and  tarnished  glass,  and  upon  the  whirl- 
wind of  atoms  floating  in  its  golden  rays,  disturbed  by 
no  breath  of  air. 

I  had  scarcely  finished  these  observations  and  reflections,, 
when  the  old  woman  entered,  having  just  returned  from 
market.  I  heard  the  grating  of  her  heavy  door.  Then  she 
appeared  with  her  basket.  She  seemed  fatigued — almost 
out  of  breath.  The  lace  of  her  bonnet  fell  to  her  nose. 
With  one  hand  she  grasped  the  banister  and  ascended  the 
stairs. 

The  heat  was  intolerable,  suffocating;  it  was  precisely 
one  of  those  days  in  which  all  insects — crickets,  spiders, 
mosquitoes,  etc. — make  old  ruins  resound  with  their 
strange  sounds. 

Fledermausse  crossed  the  gallery  slowly,  like  an  old 
ferret  who  feels  at  home.  She  remained  more  than  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  in  the  kitchen,  then  returned,  spread  out  her 
linen,  took  the  broom,  and  brushed  away  some  blades  of 
straw  on  the  floor.   At  last  she  raised  her  head,  and  turned 

1 06 


Erckmann-Chatrian 

lier  little  green  eyes  in  every  direction,  searching,  inves- 
tigating carefully. 

Could  she,  by  some  strange  intuition,  suspect  anything? 
I  do  not  know;  but  I  gently  lowered  the  slate,  and  gave 
up  my  watch  for  the  day. 

In  the  morning  Fledermausse  appeared  reassured.  One 
angle  of  light  fell  upon  the  gallery.  In  passing,  she  caught 
a  fly  on  the  wing,  and  presented  it  delicately  to  a  spider 
established  in  a  corner  of  the  roof.  This  spider  was  so 
bloated  that,  notwithstanding  the  distance,  I  saw  it  de- 
scend from  round  to  round,  then  glide  along  a  fine  web, 
like  a  drop  of  venom,  seize  its  prey  from  the  hands  of  the 
old  shrew,  and  remount  rapidly.  Fledermausse  looked  at 
it  very  attentively,  with  her  eyes  half  closed;  then  sneezed, 
and  said  to  herself,  in  a  jeering  tone,  God  bless  you, 
beautiful  one;  God  bless  you! 

I  watched  during  six  wrecks,  and  could  discover  nothing 
concerning  the  power  of  Fledermausse.  Sometimes,  seated 
upon  a  stool,  she  peeled  her  potatoes,  then  hung  out  her 
linen  upon  the  balustrade. 

Sometimes  I  saw  her  spinning;  but  she  never  sang,  as 
good,  kind  old  women  are  accustomed  to  do,  their  trem- 
bling voices  mingling  well  with  the  humming  of  the  wheel. 

Profound  silence  always  reigned  around  her;  she  had 
no  cat — that  cherished  society  of  old  women — not  even  a 
sparrow  came  to  rest  under  her  roof.  It  seemed  as  if  all 
animated  nature  shrank  from  her  glance.  The  bloated 
spider  alone  took  delight  in  her  society. 

I  cannot  now  conceive  how  my  patience  could  endure 
those  long  hours  of  observation:  nothing  escaped  me;  noth- 
ing was  matter  of  indifference.  At  the  slightest  sound  I 
raised  my  slate;  my  curiosity  was  without  limit,  insatiable. 

Toubac  complained  greatly. 
Master  Christian,"  said  he,  how  in  the  devil  do  you 
pass  your  time?  Formerly  you  painted  something  for  me 
every  week;  now  you  do  not  finish  a  piece  once  a  month. 
Oh,  you  painters !  ^  Lazy  as  a  painter  '  is  a  good,  wise 
proverb.    As  soon  as  you  have  a  few  kreutzers  in  pos- 

107 


French  Mystery  Stories 

session,  you  put  your  hands  in  your  pockets  and  go  to 
sleep !  " 

I  confess  that  I  began  to  lose  courage — I  had  watched, 
spied,  and  discovered  nothing.  I  said  to  myself  that  the 
old  woman  could  not  be  so  dangerous  as  I  had  supposed; 
that  I  had  perhaps  done  her  injustice  by  my  suspicions; 
in  short,  I  began  to  make  excuses  for  her.  One  lovely 
afternoon,  with  my  eye  fixed  at  my  post  of  observa- 
tion, I  abandoned  myself  to  these  benevolent  reflections, 
when  suddenly  the  scene  changed :  Fledermausse  passed 
through  the  gallery  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning.  She 
w^as  no  longer  the  same  person;  she  was  erect,  her  jaws 
were  clinched,  her  glance  fixed,  her  neck  extended;  she 
w^alked  with  grand  strides,  her  gray  locks  floating  behind 
her. 

Oh,  at  last,''  I  said  to  myself,  "  something  is  coming, 
attention!"  But,  alas!  the  shadows  of  evening  descended 
upon  the  old  building,  the  noises  of  the  city  expired,  and 
silence  prevailed. 

Fatigued  and  disappointed,  I  lay  down  upon  my  bed, 
when,  casting  my  eyes  toward  my  dormer  window,  I  saw 
the  room  opposite  illuminated.  So!  a  traveler  occupied  the 
Green  Room — fatal  to  strangers. 

Now,  all  my  fears  were  reawakened;  the  agitation  of  Fle- 
dermausse was  explained — she  scented  a  new  victim. 

No  sleep  for  me  that  night;  the  rustling  of  the  straw, 
the  nibbling  of  the  mice  under  the  floor,  gave  me  nervous 
chills. 

I  rose  and  leaned  out  of  my  window;  I  listened.  The 
light  in  the  room  opposite  was  extinguished.  In  one  of 
those  moments  of  poignant  anxiety,  I  cannot  say  if  it  was 
illusion  or  reality,  I  thought  I  saw  the  old  wretch  also 
watching  and  Hstening. 

The  night  passed,  and  the  gray  dawn  came  to  my  win- 
dows; by  degrees  the  noise  and  movements  in  the  street 
ascended  to  my  loft.  Harassed  by  fatigue  and  emotion 
I  fell  asleep,  but  my  slumber  was  short,  and  by  eight 
o'clock  I  had  resumed  my  post  of  observation. 

lOeS 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


It  seemed  as  if  the  night  had  been  as  disturbed  and  tem- 
pestuous to  Fledermausse  as  to  myself.  When  she  opened 
the  door  of  the  gallery,  I  saw  that  a  livid  pallor  covered 
her  cheeks  and  thin  throat;  she  had  on  only  her  chemise 
and  a  woolen  skirt;  a  few  locks  of  reddish  gray  hair  fell 
on  her  shoulders.  She  looked  toward  my  hiding  place  with 
a  dreamy,  abstracted  air,  but  she  saw  nothing;  she  was 
thinking  of  other  things. 

Suddenly  she  descended,  leaving  her  old  shoes  at  the 
bottom  of  the  steps.  Without  doubt,''  thought  I,  she  is 
going  to  see  if  the  door  below  is  well  fastened.'' 

I  sav/  her  remount  hastily,  springing  up  three  or  four 
steps  at  a  time — it  was  terrible. 

She  rushed  into  the  neighboring  chamber,  and  I  heard 
something  Hke  the  falling  of  the  top  of  a  great  chest;  then 
Fledermausse  appeared  in  the  gallery,  dragging  a  manikin 
after  her,  and  this  manikin  was  clothed  like  the  Heidelberg 
student. 

With  surprising  dexterity  the  old  woman  suspended  this 
hideous  object  to  a  beam  of  the  shed,  then  descended 
rapidly  to  the  courtyard  to  contemplate  it.  A  burst  of 
sardonic  laughter  escaped  from  her  lips;  she  remounted, 
then  descended  again  like  a  maniac,  and  each  time  uttered 
new  cries  and  new  bursts  of  laughter. 

A  noise  was  heard  near  the  door,  and  the  old  woman 
bounded  forward,  unhooked  the  manikin  and  carried  it 
oflf;  then,  leaning  over  the  balustrade  with  her  throat 
elongated,  her  eyes  flashing,  she  listened  earnestly.  The 
noise  was  lost  in  the  distance,  the  muscles  of  her  face  re- 
laxed, and  she  drev/  long  breaths.  It  was  only  a  carriage 
which  had  passed. 

The  old  wretch  had  been  frightened. 

She  now  returned  to  the  room,  and  I  heard  the  chest 
close.  This  strange  scene  confounded  all  my  ideas.  What 
did  this  manikin  signify?  I  became  more  than  ever  at- 
tentive. 

Fledermausse  now  left  the  house  with  her  basket  on  her 
arm.   I  followed  her  with  my  eyes  till  she  turned  the  corner 

109 


French  Mystery  Stories 

of  the  street.  She  had  reassumed  the  air  of  a  trembUng 
old  woman,  took  short  steps,  and  from  time  to  time  turned 
her  head  partly  around,  to  peer  behind  from  the  corner  of 
her  eye. 

Fledermausse  was  absent  fully  five  hours.  For  myself, 
I  went,  I  came,  I  meditated.  The  time  seemed  insupport- 
able. The  sun  heated  the  slate  of  the  roof,  and  scorched 
my  brain. 

Now  I  saw,  at  the  window,  the  good  man  who  occupied 
the  fatal  Green  Chamber;  he  was  a  brave  peasant  of  Nas- 
sau, with  a  large  three-cornered  hat,  a  scarlet  vest,  and  a 
laughing  face;  he  smoked  his  pipe  of  Ulm  tranquillity,  and 
seemed  to  fear  no  evil. 

I  felt  a  strong  desire  to  cry  out  to  him:  ''Good  man, 
be  on  your  guard!  Do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  entrapped 
by  the  old  wretch;  distrust  yourself!''  but  he  would  not 
have  comprehended  me.  Toward  two  o'clock  Fleder- 
mausse returned.  The  noise  of  her  door  resounded 
through  the  vestibule.  Then  alone,  all  alone,  she  entered 
the  yard,  and  seated  herself  on  the  interior  step  of  the 
stairway;  she  put  down  her  basket  before  her,  and  drew 
out  first  some  packets  of  herbs,  then  vegetables,  then  a  red 
vest,  then  a  three-cornered  hat,  a  coat  of  brown  velvet, 
pants  of  plush,  and  coarse  woolen  hose — the  complete  cos- 
tume of  the  peasant  from  Nassau. 

For  a  moment  I  felt  stunned;  then  flames  passed  before 
my  eyes. 

I  recollected  those  precipices  which  entice  with  an  irre- 
sistible power;  those  wells  or  pits,  which  the  police  have 
been  com.pelled  to  close,  because  men  threw  themselves 
into  them;  those  trees  which  had  been  cut  down  because 
they  inspired  men  with  the  idea  of  hanging  themselves; 
that  contagion  of  suicides,  of  robberies,  of  murders,  at  cer- 
tain epochs,  by  desperate  means;  that  strange  and  subtile 
enticement  of  example,  which  makes  you  yawn  because 
another  yawns,  suft'er  because  you  see  another  suffer,  kill 
yourself  because  you  see  others  kill  themselves — and  my 
hair  stood  up  with  horror. 

no 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


How  could  this  Fledermausse,  this  base,  sordid  creature, 
liave  derived  so  profound  a  law  of  human  nature?  how  had 
she  found  the  means  to  use  this  law  to  the  profit  or  indul- 
gence of  her  sanguinary  instincts?  This  I  could  not  com- 
prehend; it  surpassed  my  wildest  imaginations. 

But  reflecting  longer  upon  this  inexplicable  mystery,  I 
resolved  to  turn  the  fatal  law  against  her,  and  to  draw  the 
old  murderess  into  her  own  net. 

So  many  innocent  victims  called  out  for  vengeance! 

I  felt  myself  to  be  on  the  right  path. 

I  went  to  all  the  old-clothes  sellers  in  Nuremberg,  and 
returned  in  the  afternoon  to  the  Inn  Boeuf-Gras,  with  an 
enormous  packet  under  my  arm. 

Nichel  Schmxidt  had  known  me  for  a  long  time ;  his  wife 
was  fat  and  good-looking ;  I  had  painted  her  portrait. 

"  Ah,  Master  Christian,"  said  he,  squeezing  my  hand, 

what  happy  circumstance  brings  you  here?  What  pro- 
cures me  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you?'' 

"  My  dear  Monsieur  Schmidt,  I  feel  a  vehement,  insa- 
tiable desire  to  sleep  in  the  Green  Room.'' 

We  were  standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  inn,  and  I 
pointed  to  the  room.  The  good  man  looked  at  me  dis- 
trustfully. 

Fear  nothing,"  I  said;  I  have  no  desire  to  hang  my- 
self." 

A  la  bonne  heure!  a  la  bonne  heure!    For  frankly  that 
would  give  me  pain;  an  artist  of  such  merit!    When  do 
you  wish  the  room.  Master  Christian?" 
This  evening." 
"Impossible!  it  is  occupied!" 
Monsieur  can  enter  immediately,"  said  a  voice  just 
behind  me,  "  I  will  not  be  in  the  way." 

We  turned  around  in  great  surprise;  the  peasant  of  Nas- 
sau stood  before  us,  with  his  three-cornered  hat,  and  his 
packet  at  the  end  of  his  walking  stick.  He  had  just  learned 
the  history  of  his  three  predecessors  in  the  Green  Room, 
and  was  trembling  with  rage. 

"Rooms  like  yours!"  cried  he,  stuttering;  "but  it  is 

III 


French  Mystery  Stories 

murderous  to  put  people  there — it  is  assassination!  You 
deserve  to  be  sent  to  the  galleys  immediately!  " 

Go — go — calm  yourself,"  said  the  innkeeper;  that  did 
not  prevent  you  from  sleeping  well." 

Happily,  I  said  my  prayers  at  night,"  said  the  peasant ; 

without  that,  where  would  I  be?"  and  he  withdrew,  with 
his  hands  raised  to  heaven. 

"  Well,"  said  Nichel  Schmidt,  stupefied,  "  the  room  is 
vacant,  but  I  entreat  you,  do  not  serve  me  a  bad  trick." 

"  It  would  be  a  worse  trick  for  myself  than  for  you, 
monsieur." 

I  gave  my  packet  to  the  servants,  and  installed  myself 
for  the  time  with  the  drinkers.  For  a  long  time  I  had  not 
felt  so  calm  and  happy.  After  so  many  doubts  and  dis- 
quietudes, I  touched  the  goal.  The  horizon  seemed  to 
clear  up,  and  it  appeared  that  some  invisible  power  gave 
me  the  hand.  I  lighted  my  pipe,  placed  my  elbow  on  the 
table,  my  wine  before  me,  and  listened  to  the  chorus  in 

Freischiitz,"  played  by  a  troupe  of  gypsies  from  the  Black 
Forest.  The  trumpets,  the  hue  and  cry  of  the  chase,  the 
hautboys,  plunged  me  into  a  vague  reverie,  and,  at  times 
rousing  up  to  look  at  the  hour,  I  asked  myself  gravely, 
if  all  which  had  happened  to  me  was  not  a  dream.  But  the 
watchman  came  to  ask  us  to  leave  the  salle,  and  soon  other 
and  more  solemn  thoughts  were  surging  in  my  soul,  and 
in  deep  meditation  I  followed  little  Charlotte,  who  pre- 
ceded me  with  a  candle  to  my  room. 

We  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  third  story.   Charlotte  gave 
me  the  candle  and  pointed  to  the  door. 
There,"  said  she,  and  descended  rapidly. 

I  opened  the  door.  The  Green  Room  was  like  any  other 
inn  room.  The  ceiling  was  very  low,  the  bed  very  high. 
With  one  glance  I  explored  the  interior,  and  then  glided 
to  the  window. 

Nothing  was  to  be  seen  in  the  house  of  Fledermausse; 
only,  in  some  distant  room,  an  obscure  light  was  burning. 
Some  one  was  on  the  watch.  That  is  well,"  said  I,  clos- 
ing the  curtain.      I  have  all  necessary  time." 

112 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


I  opened  my  packet,  I  put  on  a  woman's  bonnet  with 
hanging  lace;  then,  placing  myself  before  a  mirror,  I  took 
a  brush  and  painted  wrinkles  in  my  face.  This  took  me 
nearly  an  hour.  Then  I  put  on  the  dress  and  a  large  shawl, 
and  I  was  actually  afraid  of  myself.  Fledermauss^  seemed 
to  me  to  look  at  me  from  the  mirror. 

At  this  moment  the  watchman  cried  out,  Eleven 
o'clock!''  I  seized  the  manikin  which  I  had  brought  in 
my  packet,  and  mufifled  it  in  a  costume  precisely  similar 
to  that  worn  by  the  old  wretch.   I  then  opened  the  curtain. 

Certainly,  after  all  that  I  had  seen  of  the  Fledermausse,, 
of  her  infernal  cunning,  her  prudence,  her  adroitness,  she 
could  not  in  any  way  surprise  me;  and  yet  I  was  afraid. 
The  light  which  I  had  remarked  in  the  chamber  was  still 
immovable,  and  now  cast  its  yellow  rays  on  the  manikin 
of  the  peasant  of  Nassau,  which  was  crouched  on  the  cor- 
ner of  the  bed,  with  the  head  hanging  on  the  breast, 
the  three-cornered  hat  pulled  down  over  the  face,  the 
arms  suspended,  and  the  whole  aspect  that  of  absolute 
despair. 

The  shadows,  managed  with  diabolical  art,  allowed  noth- 
ing to  be  seen  but  the  general  effect  of  the  face.  The  red 
vest,  and  six  round  buttons  alone,  seemed  to  shine  out  in 
the  darkness.  But  the  silence  of  the  night,  the  complete 
immobility  of  the  figure,  the  exhausted,  mournful  air,  were 
well  calculated  to  take  possession  of  a  spectator  with  a 
strange  power.  For  myself,  although  forewarned,  I  was 
chilled  even  to  my  bones. 

How  would  it,  then,  have  fared  with  the  poor,  simple 
peasant,  if  he  had  been  surprised  unawares?  He  would 
have  been  utterly  cast  down.  Despairing,  he  would  have 
lost  all  power  of  self-control,  and  the  spirit  of  imitation 
would  have  done  the  rest. 

Scarcely  had  I  moved  the  curtain,  when  I  saw  Fleder- 
mausse on  the  watch  behind  her  window.  She  could  not 
see  me.  I  opened  my  window  softly;  the  window  opposite 
was  opened!  Then  her  manikin  appeared  to  rise  slowly 
and  advance  before  me.    I,  also,  advanced  my  manikin, 

113 


French  Mystery  Stories 

and  seizing  my  torch  with  one  hand,  with  the  other  I 
quickly  opened  the  shutters.  And  now  the  old  woman  and 
myself  were  face  to  face.  Struck  with  sudden  terror,  she 
had  let  her  manikin  fall! 

We  ga-^ed  at  each  other  with  almost  equal  horror.  She 
extended  her  finger — I  advanced  mine.  She  moved  her 
lips — I  agitated  mine.  She  breathed  a  profound  sigh,  and 
leaned  upon  her  elbow.    I  imitated  her. 

To  describe  all  the  terrors  of  this  scene  would  be  im- 
possible. It  bordered  upon  confusion,  madness,  delirium. 
It  was  a  death  struggle  between  two  wills ;  between  two  in- 
telligences; between  two  souls — each  one  wishing  to  de- 
stroy the  other;  and,  in  this  struggle,  I  had  the  advantage 
— her  victims  struggled  with  me. 

After  having  imitated  for  some  seconds  every  movement 
of  Fledermausse,  I  pulled  a  rope  from  under  my  skirt,  and 
attached  it  to  the  crossbeam. 

The  old  woman  gazed  at  mic  with  gaping  mouth.  I 
passed  the  rope  around  my  neck;  her  pupils  expanded, 
lightened;  her  face  was  convulsed. 

No,  no! said  she,  in  a  whistling  voice. 

I  pursued  her  with  the  impassability  of  an  executioner. 

Then  rage  seemed  to  take  possession  of  her. 
Old  fool!"  she  exclaimed,  straightening  herself  up, 
and  her  hands  contracted  on  the  crossbeam.  "  Old  fool!  " 
I  gave  her  no  time  to  go  on  blowing  out  my  lamp.  I 
stooped,  like  a  man  going  to  make  a  vigorous  spring,  and, 
seizing  my  manikin,  I  passed  the  rope  around  its  neck, 
and  precipitated  it  below. 

A  terrible  cry  resounded  through  the  street,  and  then  si- 
lence, which  I  seemed  to  feel.  Perspiration  bathed  my 
forehead.  I  listened  a  long  time.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  I  heard,  far  away,  very  far  away,  the  voice  of 
the  watchman,  crying,  "  Inhabitants  of  Nuremberg,  mid- 
night, midnight  sounds ! " 

''Now  justice  is  satisfied!'*  I  cried,  "and  three  victims 
are  avenged.    Pardon  me,  O  Lord!  " 

About  five  minutes  after  the  cry  of  the  watchman,  I  saw 

114 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


Fledermausse  attracted,  allured  by  my  manikin  (her  exact 
image),  spring  from  the  window,  with  a  rope  around  her 
neck,  and  rest  suspended  from  the  crossbeam. 

I  saw  the  shadow  of  death  undulating  through  her  body, 
while  the  moon,  calm,  silent,  majestic,  inundated  the  sum- 
mit of  the  roof,  and  her  cold,  pale  rays  reposed  upon  the 
old,  disheveled,  hideous  head. 

Just  as  I  had  seen  the  poor  young  student  of  Heidelberg, 
just  so  did  I  now  see  Fledermausse. 

In  the  morning,  all  Nuremberg  learned  that  the  old 
wretch  had  hanged  herself,  and  this  was  the  last  event  of 
that  kind  in  the  Street  Minnesanger. 


T^e  Waters  of  Death 

The  warm  mineral  waters  of  Spinbronn,  situated  in  the 
Hundsriick,  several  leagues  from  Pirmesens,  formerly  en- 
joyed a  magnificent  reputation.  All  who  were  afflicted 
with  gout  or  gravel  in  Germany  repaired  thither ;  the  savage 
aspect  of  the  country  did  not  deter  them.  They  lodged  in 
pretty  cottages  at  the  head  of  the  defile ;  they  bathed  in 
the  cascade,  which  fell  in  large  sheets  of  foam  from  the 
summit  of  the  rocks ;  they  drank  one  or  tw^o  decanters  of 
mineral  water  daily,  and  the  doctor  of  the  place,  Daniel 
Haselnoss,  who  distributed  his  prescriptions  clad  in  a  great 
wig  and  chestnut  coat,  had  an  excellent  practice. 

To-day  the  waters  of  Spinbronn  figure  no  longer  in  the 
"  Codex  ^  in  this  poor  village  one  no  longer  sees  anyone 
but  a  few  miserable  woodcutters,  and,  sad  to  say.  Dr.  Hasel- 
noss has  left! 

All  this  resulted  from  a  series  of  very  strange  catastro- 
phes which  lawyer  Bremer  of  Pirmesens  told  me  about 
the  other  day. 

'  A  collection  of  prescriptions  indorsed  by  the  Faculty  of 
Paris. — Trans, 

115 


French  Mystery  Stories 

You  should  know,  Master  Frantz  (said  he),  that  the 
spring  of  Spinbronn  issues  from  a  sort  of  cavern,  about 
five  feet  high  and  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  wide ;  the  water  has 
a  warmth  of  sixty-seven  degrees  Centigrade;  it  is  salt.  As 
for  the  cavern,  entirely  covered  without  with  moss,  ivy,  and 
brushwood,  its  depth  is  unknown  because  the  hot  exhala- 
tions prevent  all  entrance. 

Nevertheless,  strangely  enough,  it  was  noticed  early  in 
the  last  century  that  birds  of  the  neighborhood — thrushes, 
doves,  hawks — were  engulfed  in  it  in  full  flight,  and  it  was 
never  known  to  what  mysterious  influence  to  attribute  this 
particular. 

In  1801,  at  the  height  of  the  season,  owing  to  some  cir- 
cumstance which  is  still  unexplained,  the  spring  became 
more  abundant,  and  the  bathers,  walking  belov/  on  the 
greensward,  saw  a  human  skeleton  as  white  as  snow  fall 
from  the  cascade. 

You  may  judge.  Master  Frantz,  of  the  general  fright; 
it  was  thought  naturally  that  a  murder  had  been  commit- 
ted at  Spinbronn  in  a  recent  year,  and  that  the  body  of  the 
victim  had  been  thrown  in  the  spring.  But  the  skeleton 
weighed  no  more  than  a  dozen  francs,  and  Haselnoss  con- 
cluded that  it  m.ust  have  sojourned  more  than  three  cen- 
turies in  the  sand  to  have  become  reduced  to  such  a  state 
of  desiccation. 

This  very  plausible  reasoning  did  not  prevent  a  crowd 
of  patrons,  wild  at  the  idea  of  having  drunk  the  saline 
water,  from  leaving  before  the  end  of  the  day ;  those  worst 
afflicted  with  gout  and  gravel  consoled  themselves.  But 
the  overflow  continuing,  all  the  rubbish,  slime,  and  detritus 
which  the  cavern  contained  was  disgorged  on  .the  follow- 
ing days ;  a  veritable  bone-yard  came  down  from  the  moun- 
tain :  skeletons  of  animals  of  every  kind — of  quadrupeds, 
birds,  and  reptiles — in  short,  all  that  one  could  conceive 
as  most  horrible. 

Haselnoss  issued  a  pamphlet  demonstrating  that  all  these 
bones  were  derived  from  an  antediluvian  world :  that  they 
were  fossil  bones,  accumulated  there  iti  a  sort  of  funnel 

it6 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


during  the  universal  flood — that  is  to  say,  four  thousand 
years  before  Christ,  and  that,  consequently,  one  might  con- 
sider them  as  nothing  but  stones,  and  that  it  was  needless 
to  be  disgusted.  But  his  work  had  scarcely  reassured  the 
gouty  when,  one  fine  morning,  the  corpse  of  a  fox,  then 
that  of  a  hawk  with  all  its  feathers,  fell  from  the  cascade. 

It  was  impossible  to  establish  that  these  remains  ante- 
dated the  Flood.  Anyway,  the  disgust  was  so  great  that 
everybody  tied  up  his  bundle  and  went  to  take  the  waters 
elsewhere. 

"  How  infamous !  "  cried  the  beautiful  ladies — how  hor- 
rible !  So  that's  what  the  virtue  of  these  mineral  waters 
came  from!  Oh,  'twere  better  to  die  of  gravel  than  con- 
tinue such  a  remedy  !  " 

At  the  end  of  a  week  there  remained  at  Spinbronn  only 
a  big  Englishman  who  had  gout  in  his  hands  as  well  as  in 
his  feet,  who  had  himself  addressed  as  Sir  Thomas  Hawer- 
burch.  Commodore;  and  he  brought  a  large  retinue,  ac- 
cording to  the  usage  of  a  British  subject  in  a  foreign  land. 

This  personage,  big  and  fat,  with  a  florid  complexion, 
but  with  hands  simply  knotted  with  gout,  would  have  drunk 
skeleton  soup  if  it  would  have  cured  his  infirmity.  He 
laughed  heartily  over  the  desertion  of  the  other  sufferers, 
and  installed  himself  in  the  prettiest  chalet  at  half  price, 
announcing  his  design  to  pass  the  winter  at  Spinbronn. 

(Here  lawyer  Bremer  slowly  absorbed  an  ample  pinch  of 
snuff  as  if  to  quicken  his  reminiscences ;  he  shook  his  laced 
ruff  with  his  finger  tips  and  continued :) 

Five  or  six  years  before  the  Revolution  of  1789,  a  young 
doctor  of  Pirmesens,  named  Christian  Weber,  had  gone 
out  to  San  Domingo  in  the  hope  of  making  his  fortune. 
He  had  actually  amassed  some  hundred  thousand  francs 
in  the  exercise  of  his  profession  when  the  negro  revolt 
broke  out. 

I  need  not  recall  to  you  the  barbarous  treatment  to  which 
our  unfortunate  fellow  countrymen  were  subjected  at  Haiti. 

117 


French  Mystery  Stories 

Dr.  Weber  had  the  good  luck  to  escape  the  massacre  and 
to  save  part  of  his  fortune.  Then  he  traveled  in  South 
America,  and  especially  in  French  Guiana.  In  1801  he 
returned  to  Pirmesens,  and  established  himself  at  Spin- 
bronn,  where  Dr.  Haselnoss  made  over  his  house  and  de- 
funct practice. 

Christian  Weber  brought  v^ith  him  an  old  negress  called 
Agatha :  a  frightful  creature,  with  a  flat  nose  and  lips  as 
large  as  your  fist,  and  her  head  tied  up  in  three  bandanas 
of  razor-edged  colors.  This  poor  old  woman  adored  red ; 
she  had  earrings  which  hung  dow^n  to  her  shoulders,  and 
the  mountaineers  of  Hundsriick  came  from  six  leagues 
around  to  stare  at  her. 

As  for  Dr.  Weber,  he  was  a  tall,  lean  man,  invariably 
dressed  in  a  sky-blue  coat  with  codfish  tails  and  deerskin 
breeches.  He  wore  a  hat  of  flexible  straw  and  boots  with 
bright  yellow  tops,  on  the  front  of  which  hung  two  silver 
tassels.  He  talked  little;  his  laugh  was  like  a  nervous  at- 
tack, and  his  gray  eyes,  usually  calm  and  meditative,  shone 
with  singular  brilliance  at  the  least  sign  of  contradiction. 
Every  morning  he  fetched  a  turn  round  about  the  moun- 
tain, letting  his  horse  ramble  at  a  venture,  whistling  for- 
ever the  same  tune,  some  negro  melody  or  other.  Lastly, 
this  rum  chap  had  brought  from  Haiti  a  lot  of  bandboxes 
filled  with  queer  insects — some  black  and  reddish  brown, 
big  as  eggs ;  others  little  and  shimmering  like  sparks. 
He  seemed  to  set  greater  store  by  them  than  by  his  pa- 
tients, and,  from  time  to  time,  on  coming  back  from  his 
rides,  he  brought  a  quantity  of  butterflies  pinned  to  his 
hat  brim. 

Scarcely  was  he  settled  in  Haselnoss's  vast  house  when 
he  peopled  the  back  yard  with  outlandish  birds — Barbary 
geese  with  scarlet  cheeks,  Guinea  hens,  and  a  white  pea- 
cock, which  perched  habitually  on  the  garden  wall,  and 
which  divided  with  the  negress  the  admiration  of  the  moun- 
taineers. 

If  I  enter  into  these  details,  Master  Frantz,  it's  because 
they  recall  my  early  youth ;  Dr.  Christian  found  himself  to 

118 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


be  at  the  same  time  my  cousm  and  my  tutor,  and  as  early 
as  on  his  return  to  Germany  he  had  come  to  take  me  and 
install  me  in  his  house  at  Spinbronn.  The  black  Agatha 
at  first  sight  inspired  me  with  some  fright,  and  I  only  got 
seasoned  to  that  fantastic  visage  with  considerable  diffi- 
culty ;  but  she  was  such  a  good  woman — she  knew  so  well 
how  to  make  spiced  patties,  she  hummed  such  strange  songs 
in  a  guttural  voice,  snapping  her  fingers  and  keeping  time 
with  a  heavy  shuffle,  that  I  ended  by  taking  her  in  fast 
friendship. 

Dr.  Weber  was  naturally  thick  with  Sir  Thomas  Hawer- 
burch,  as  representing  the  only  one  of  his  clientele  then  in 
evidence,  and  I  was  not  slow  in  perceiving  that  these  two 
eccentrics  held  long  conventicles  together.  They  conversed 
on  mysterious  matters,  on  the  transmission  of  fluids,  and 
indulged  in  certain  odd  signs  which  one  or  the  other  had 
picked  up  in  his  voyages — Sir  Thomas  in  the  Orient,  and 
my  tutor  in  America.  This  puzzled  me  greatly.  As  chil- 
dren will,  I  was  always  lying  in  wait  for  what  they  seemed 
to  want  to  conceal  from  me ;  but  despairing  in  the  end  of 
discovering  anything,  I  took  the  course  of  questioning 
Agatha,  and  the  poor  old  woman,  after  making  me  promise 
to  say  nothing  about  it,  admitted  that  my  tutor  was  a  sor- 
cerer. 

For  the  rest,  Dr.  Weber  exercised  a  singular  influence 
over  the  mind  of  this  negress,  and  this  woman,  habitually 
so  gay  and  forever  ready  to  be  amused  by  nothing,  trem- 
bled like  a  leaf  when  her  master's  gray  eyes  chanced  to 
alight  on  her. 

All  this.  Master  Frantz,  seems  to  have  no  bearing  on  the 
springs  of  Spinbronn.  But  wait,  wait — you  shall  see  by 
what  a  singular  concourse  of  circumstances  my  story  is 
connected  with  it. 

I  told  you  that  birds  darted  into  the  cavern,  and  even 
other  and  larger  creatures.  After  the  final  departure  of  the 
patrons,  some  of  the  old  inhabitants  of  the  village  recalled 
that  a  young  girl  named  Louise  Miiller,  who  lived  with 
her  infirm  old  grandmother  in  a  cottage  on  the  pitch  of 

119 


French  Mystery  Stories 

the  slope,  had  suddenly  disappeared  half  a  hundred  years 
before.  She  had  gone  out  to  look  for  herbs  in  the  forest, 
and  there  had  never  been  any  more  news  of  her  after- 
wards, except  that,  three  or  four  days  later,  some  wood- 
cutters who  were  descending  the  mountain  had  found  her 
sickle  and  her  apron  a  few  steps  from  the  cavern. 

From  that  mioment  it  was  evident  to  everyone  that  the 
skeleton  which  had  fallen  from  the  cascade,  on  the  subject 
of  which  Haselnoss  had  turned  such  fine  phrases,  was  no 
other  than  that  of  Louise  Miiller.  The  poor  girl  had  doubt- 
less been  drawn  into  the  gulf  by  the  mysterious  influence 
which  almost  daily  overcame  weaker  beings ! 

What  could  this  influence  be?  None  knew.  But  the 
inhabitants  of  Spinbronn,  superstitious  like  all  mountain- 
eers, maintained  that  the  devil  lived  in  the  cavern,  and 
terror  spread  in  the  whole  region. 

Now  one  afternoon  in  the  middle  of  the  month  of  July, 
1802,  my  cousin  undertook  a  new  classification  of  the  in- 
sects in  his  bandboxes.  He  had  secured  several  rather 
curious  ones  the  preceding  afternoon.  I  was  with  him, 
holding  the  lighted  candle  with  one  hand  and  with  the  other 
a  needle  which  I  heated  red-hot. 

Sir  Thomas,  seated,  his  chair  tipped  back  against  the 
sill  of  a  window,  his  feet  on  a  stool,  watched  us  work,  and 
smoked  his  cigar  with  a  dreamy  air. 

I  stood  in  with  Sir  Thomas  Hawerburch,  and  I  accom- 
panied him  every  day  to  the  w^oods  in  his  carriage.  He  en- 
joyed hearing  m^e  chatter  in  English,  and  wished  to  make 
of  me,  as  he  said,  a  thorough  gentleman. 

The  butterflies  labeled.  Dr.  Weber  at  last  opened  the 
box  of  the  largest  insects,  and  said : 

"  Yesterday  I  secured  a  magnificent  horn  beetle,  the 
great  Lucanus  cervus  of  the  oaks  of  the  Hartz.  It  has  this 
peculiarity — the  right  claw  divides  in  five  branches.  It's  a 
rare  specimen." 

At  the  same  time  I  offered  him  the  needle,  and  as  he 
pierced  the  insect  before  fixing  it  on  the  cork.  Sir  Thomas, 

120 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


until  then  impassive,  got  up,  and,  drawing  near  a  band- 
box, he  began  to  examine  the  spider  crab  of  Guiana  with 
a  feehng  of  horror  which  was  strikingly  portrayed  on  his 
fat  vermilion  face. 

"  That  is  certainly,"  he  cried,  the  most  frightful  work 
of  the  creation.  The  mere  sight  of  it — it  makes  me  shud- 
der!" 

In  truth,  a  sudden  pallor  overspread  his  face. 

"  Bah !  "  said  my  tutor,  all  that  is  only  a  prejudice  from 
childhood — one  hears  his  nurse  cry  out — one  is  afraid — 
and  the  impression  sticks.  But  if  you  should  consider  the 
spider  with  a  strong  microscope,  you  would  be  astonished 
at  the  finish  of  his  members,  at  their  admirable  arrange- 
ment, and  even  at  their  elegance." 

It  disgusts  me,"  interrupted  the  commodore  brusquely. 

Pouah !  " 

It  had  turned  over  in  his  fingers. 
Oh !  I  don't  know  why,"  he  declared,     spiders  have 
alw^ays  frozen  my  blood ! " 

Dr.  Weber  began  to  laugh,  and  I,  who  shared  the  feel- 
ings of  Sir  Thomas,  exclaimed : 

"  Yes,  cousin,  you  ought  to  take  this  villainous  beast  out 
of  the  box — it  is  disgusting — it  spoils  all  the  rest." 

Little  chump,"  he  said,  his  eyes  sparkling,  what 
makes  you  look  at  it  ?  If  you  don't  like  it,  go  take  yourself 
oft  somewhere." 

Evidently  he  had  taken  offense ;  and  Sir  Thomas,  who 
was  then  before  the  window  contemplating  the  mountain, 
turned  suddenly,  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  said  to  me  in 
a  manner  full  of  good  will : 

"  Your  tutor,  Frantz,  sets  great  store  by  his  spider;  we 
like  the  trees  better — the  verdure.  Come,  let's  go  for  a 
walk." 

"  Yes,  go,"  cried  the  doctor,  and  come  back  for  sup- 
per at  six  o'clock." 

Then  raising  his  voice : 

No  hard  feelings,  Sir  Hawerburch." 
The  commodore  replied  laughingly,  and  we  got  into 

121 


French  Mystery  Stories 

the  carriage,  which  was  always  waiting  in  front  of  the 
door  of  the  house. 

Sir  Thomas  wanted  to  drive  himself  and  dismissed  his 
servant.  He  made  me  sit  beside  him  on  the  same  seat 
and  we  started  off  for  Rothalps. 

While  the  carriage  was  slowly  ascending  the  sandy  path, 
an  invincible  sadness  possessed  itself  of  my  spirit.  Sir 
Thomas,  on  his  part,  was  grave.  He  perceived  my  sad- 
ness and  said: 

You  don't  like  spiders,  Frantz,  nor  do  I  either.  But 
thank  Heaven,  there  aren't  any  dangerous  ones  in  this 
country.  The  spider  crab  which  your  tutor  has  in  his  box 
comes  from  French  Guiana.  It  inhabits  the  great,  swampy 
forests  filled  with  warm  vapors,  with  scalding  exhalations ; 
this  temperature  is  necessary  to  its  life.  Its  web,  or  rather 
its  vast  snare,  envelops  an  entire  thicket.  In  it  it  takes 
birds  as  our  spiders  take  flies.  But  drive  these  disgusting 
images  from  your  mind,  and  drink  a  swallow  of  my  old 
Burgundy." 

Then  turning,  he  raised  the  cover  of  the  rear  seat,  and 
drew  from  the  straw  a  sort  of  gourd  from  which  he  poured 
me  a  full  bumper  in  a  leather  goblet. 

When  I  had  drunk  all  my  good  humor  returned  and  I 
began  to  laugh  at  my  fright. 

The  carriage  was  drawn  by  a  little  Ardennes  horse,  thin 
and  nervous  as  a  goat,  which  clambered  up  the  nearly  per- 
pendicular path.  Thousands  of  insects  hummed  in  the 
bushes.  At  our  right,  at  a  hundred  paces  or  more,  the 
somber  outskirts  of  the  Rothalp  forests  extended  below 
us,  the  profound  shades  of  which,  choked  with  briers  and 
foul  brush,  showed  here  and  there  an  opening  filled  with 
light.  On  our  left  tumbled  the  stream  of  Spinbronn,  and 
the  more  we  climbed  the  more  did  its  silvered  sheets,  float- 
ing in  the  abyss,  grow  tinged  with  azure  and  redouble 
their  sound  of  cymbals. 

I  was  captivated  by  this  spectacle.  Sir  Thomas,  lean- 
ing back  in  the  seat,  his  knees  as  high  as  his  chin,  aban- 
doned himself  to  his  habitual  reveries,  while  the  horse, 

122 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


laboring  with  his  feet  and  hanging  his  head  on  his  chest 
as  a  counter-weight  to  the  carriage,  held  on  as  if  suspended 
on  the  flank  of  the  rock.  Soon,  however,  we  reached  a 
pitch  less  steep:  the  haunt  of  the  roebuck,  surrounded  by 
tremulous  shadows.  I  always  lost  my  head,  and  my  eyes 
too,  in  an  immense  perspective.  At  the  apparition  of  the 
shadows  I  turned  my  head  and  saw  the  cavern  of  Spin- 
bronn  close  at  hand.  The  encompassing  mists  were  a 
magnificent  green,  and  the  stream  which,  before  falling, 
extends  over  a  bed  of  black  sand  and  pebbles,  was  so  clear 
that  one  would  have  thought  it  frozen  if  pale  vapors  did 
not  follow  its  surface. 

The  horse  had  just  stopped  of  his  own  accord  to  breathe  ; 
Sir  Thomas,  rising,  cast  his  eye  over  the  countryside. 
How  calm  everything  is ! said  he. 

Then,  after  an  instant  of  silence : 
If  you  weren't  here,  Frantz,  I  should  certainly  bathe  in 
the  basin,'' 

"But,  Commodore,"  said  I,  ''why  not  bathe?  I  would 
do  well  to  stroll  around  in  the  neighborhood.  On  the  next 
hill  is  a  great  glade  filled  with  wild  strawberries.  Til  go 
and  pick  some.    Til  be  back  in  an  hour." 

Ha !  I  should  like  to,  Frantz ;  it's  a  good  idea.  Dr. 
Weber  contends  that  I  drink  too  much  Burgundy.  It's 
necessary  to  ofifset  wine  with  mineral  water.  This  little 
bed  of  sand  pleases  me." 

Then,  having  set  both  feet  on  the  ground,  he  hitched 
the  horse  to  the  trunk  of  a  little  birch  and  waved  his  hand 
as  if  to  say: 

You  may  go." 

I  saw  him  sit  down  on  the  moss  and  draw  off  his  boots. 
As  I  moved  away  he  turned  and  called  out : 

"  In  an  hour,  Frantz." 

They  were  his  last  words. 

An  hour  later  I  returned  to  the  spring.  The  horse,  the 
carriage,  and  the  clothes  of  Sir  Thomas  alone  met  my 
eyes.    The  sun  was  setting.    The  shadows  were  getting 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

long.  Not  a  bird's  song  under  the  foliage,  not  the  hum  of 
an  insect  in  the  tall  grass.  A  silence  like  death  looked 
down  on  this  solitude !  The  silence  frightened  me.  I 
climbed  up  on  the  rock  which  overlooks  the  cavern ;  I 
looked  to  the  right  and  to  the  left.  Nobody !  I  called. 
No  answer !  The  sound  of  my  voice,  repeated  by  the 
echoes,  filled  me  with  fear.  Night  settled  down  slowly.  A 
vague  sense  of  horror  oppressed  me.  Suddenly  the  story 
of  the  young  girl  who  had  disappeared  occurred  to  me ; 
and  I  began  to  descend  on  the  run ;  but,  arriving  before 
the  cavern,  I  stopped,  seized  with  unaccountable  terror: 
in  casting  a  glance  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  spring  I 
had  caught  sight  of  two  motionless  red  points.  Then  I 
saw  long  lines  wavering  in  a  strange  manner  in  the  midst 
of  the  darkness,  and  that  at  a  depth  where  no  human  eye 
had  ever  penetrated.  Fear  lent  my  sight,  and  all  my 
senses,  an  unheard-of  subtlety  of  perception.  For  several 
seconds  I  heard  very  distinctly  the  evening  plaint  of  a 
cricket  down  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  a  dog  barking  far 
away,  very  far  in  the  valley.  Then  my  heart,  compressed 
for  an  instant  by  emotion,  began  to  beat  furiously  and  I 
no  longer  heard  anything ! 

Then  uttering  a  horrible  cry,  I  fled,  abandoning  the 
horse,  the  carriage.  In  less  than  twenty  minutes,  bound- 
ing over  the  rocks  and  brush,  I  reached  the  threshold  of 
our  house,  and  cried  in  a  stifled  voice : 

"  Run  !  Run  !  Sir  Havv^erburch  is  dead !  Sir  Hawer- 
burch  is  in  the  cavern  ! 

After  these  words,  spoken  in  the  presence  of  my  tutor, 
of  the  old  woman  Agatha,  and  of  two  or  three  people  in- 
vited in  that  evening  by  the  doctor,  I  fainted.  I  have 
learned  since  that  during  a  whole  hour  I  raved  deliriously. 

The  whole  village  had  gone  in  search  of  the  commo- 
dore. Christian  Weber  hurried  them  ofif.  At  ten  o'clock 
in  the  evening  all  the  crowd  came  back,  bringing  the  car- 
riage, and  in  the  carriage  the  clothes  of  Sir  Hawerburch. 
They  had  discovered  nothing.  It  was  impossible  to  take 
ten  steps  in  the  cavern  without  being  suffocated. 

124 


Erckrnann-Chatrian 


During  their  absence  Agatha  and  I  waited,  sitting  in 
the  chimney  corner.  I,  howHng  incoherent  words  of  ter- 
ror; she,  with  hands  crossed  on  her  knees,  eyes  wide  open, 
going  from  time  to  time  to  the  window  to  see  what 
was  taking  place,  for  from  the  foot  of  the  mountain  one 
could  see  torches  flitting  in  the  woods.  One  could  hear 
hoarse  voices,  in  the  distance,  calling  to  each  other  in  the 
night. 

At  the  approach  of  her  master,  Agatha  began  to  tremble. 
The  doctor  entered  brusquely,  pale,  his  lips  compressed, 
despair  written  on  his  face.  A  score  of  woodcutters  fol- 
lowed him  tumultuously,  in  great  felt  hats  with  wide 
brims  —  swarthy  visaged  —  shaking  the  ash  from  their 
torches.  Scarcely  was  he  in  the  hall  when  my  tutor's  glit- 
tering eyes  seemed  to  look  for  something.  He  caught 
sight  of  the  negress,  and  without  a  word  having  passed 
between  them,  the  poor  woman  began  to  cry : 

"  No !  no !  I  don't  want  to !  " 
And  I  wish  it,''  replied  the  doctor  in  a  hard  tone. 

One  would  have  said  that  the  negress  had  been  seized 
by  an  invincible  power.  She  shuddered  from  head  to  foot, 
and  Christian  Weber  showing  her  a  bench,  she  sat  down 
Avith  a  corpse-like  stiffness. 

All  the  bystanders,  witnesses  of  this  shocking  spectacle, 
good  folk  with  primitive  and  crude  manners,  but  full  of 
pious  sentiments,  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  I  who 
knew  not  then,  even  by  name,  of  the  terrible  magnetic 
power  of  the  will,  began  to  tremble,  believing  that  Agatha 
was  dead. 

Christian  Weber  approached  the  negress,  and  making  a 
rapid  pass  over  her  forehead : 
"  Are  you  there  ?    said  he. 

Yes,  master." 
"  Sir  Thomas  Hawerburch  ?  " 
At  these  words  she  shuddered  again. 
"  Do  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Yes — yes,"  she  gasped  in  a  strangling  voice,  "  I  see 
him." 


1^5 


French  Mystery  Stories 
"Where  is  he?" 

"  Up  there — in  the  baclc  of  the  cavern — dead !  " 

"  Dead !  "  said  the  doctor,  "  how? 

"  The  spider —   Oh !  the  spider  crab —  Oh !  

"  Control  your  agitation/'  said  the  doctor,  who  was  quite 

pale,  "  tell  us  plainly  

The  spider  crab  holds  him  by  the  throat — he  Is  there — 
at  the  back — under  the  rock — wound  round  by  w^ebs — 
Ah!" 

Christian  Weber  cast  a  cold  glance  toward  his  assist- 
ants, who,  crowding  around,  with  their  eyes  sticking  out 
of  their  heads,  were  listening  intently,  and  I  heard  him 
murmur : 

"  It's  horrible  !  horrible  ! 

Then  he  resumed: 

"You  see  him?" 

"  I  see  him  " 

"And  the  spider — is  it  big?" 

"  Oh,  master,  never — never  have  I  seen  such  a  large 
one — not  even  on  the  banks  of  the  Mocaris — nor  in  the 
lowlands  of  Konanama.    It  is  as  large  as  my  head  !  " 

There  was  a  long  silence.  All  the  assistants  looked  at 
each  other,  their  faces  livid,  their  hair  standing  up.  Chris- 
tian Weber  alone  seemed  calm;  having  passed  his  hand 
several  times  over  the  negress's  forehead,  he  continued : 

"  Agatha,  tell  us  how  death  befell  Sir  Hawerburch." 

"  He  was  bathing  in  the  basin  of  the  spring — the  spider 
saw  him  from  behind,  with  his  bare  back.  It  was  hun- 
gry, it  had  fasted  for  a  long  time;  it  saw  him  with  his 
arms  on  the  water.  Suddenly  it  came  out  like  a  flash  and 
placed  its  fangs  around  the  commodore's  neck,  and  he 
cried  out :  *  Oh !  oh !  my  God ! '  It  stung  and  fled.  Sir 
Hawerburch  sank  down  in  the  water  and  died.  Then  the 
spider  returned  and  surrounded  him  with  its  web,  and  he 
floated  gently,  gently,  to  the  back  of  the  cavern.  It  drew 
in  on  the  web.    Now  he  is  all  black." 

The  doctor,  turning  to  me,  who  no  longer  felt  the  shock, 
asked : 

126 


Erckinann-Chatrian 


"  Is  it  true,  Frantz,  that  the  commodore  went  m  bath- 

"  Yes,  Cousin  Christian.'' 
"  At  what  time  ?  " 
''At  four  o'clock." 

"At  four  o'clock — it  was  very  warm,  wasn't  it?" 
"  Oh,  yes  !  " 

"  It's  certainly  so,"  said  he,  striking  his  forehead.  "  The 
monster  could  come  out  without  fear  " 

He  pronounced  a  few  unintelligible  words,  and  then, 
looking  toward  the  mountaineers : 

"  My  friends,"  he  cried,  "  that  is  where  this  mass  of 
debris  came  from — of  skeletons — which  spread  terror 
among  the  bathers.  That  is  what  has  ruined  you  all — it 
is  the  spider  crab !  It  is  there — hidden  in  its  web — await- 
ing its  prey  in  the  back  of  the  cavern !  Who  can  tell  the 
number  of  its  victims  ?  " 

And  full  of  fury,  he  led  the  way,  shouting: 

"  Fagots  !    Fagots !  " 

The  woodcutters  followed  him,  vociferating. 

Ten  minutes  later  two  large  wagons  laden  with  fagots 
were  slowly  mounting  the  slope.  A  long  file  of  woodcut- 
ters, their  backs  bent  double,  followed,  enveloped  in  the 
somber  night.  My  tutor  and  I  walked  ahead,  leading  the 
horses  by  their  bridles,  and  the  melancholy  moon  vaguely 
lighted  this  funereal  march.  From  time  to  time  the  wheels 
grated.  Then  the  carts,  raised  by  the  irregularities  of  the 
rocky  road,  fell  again  in  the  track  with  a  heavy  jolt. 

As  we  drew  near  the  cavern,  on  the  playground  of  the 
roebucks,  our  cortege  halted.  The  torches  were  lit,  and 
the  crowd  advanced  toward  the  gulf.  The  limpid  water, 
running  over  the  sand,  reflected  the  bluish  flame  of  the 
resinous  torches,  the  rays  of  which  revealed  the  tops  of 
the  black  firs  leaning  over  the  rock. 

"  This  is  the  place  to  unload,"  the  doctor  then  said. 
"  It's  necessary  to  block  up  the  mouth  of  the  cavern." 

And  it  was  not  without  a  feeling  of  terror  that  each 
undertook  the  duty  of  executing  his  orders.    The  fagots 

127 


French  Mystery  Stories 

fell  from  the  top  of  the  loads.  A  few  stakes  driven  down 
before  the  opening  of  the  spring  prevented  the  water  from 
carrying  them  away. 

Toward  midnight  the  mouth  of  the  cavern  was  com- 
pletely closed.  The  water  running  over  spread  to  both 
sides  on  the  moss.  The  top  fagots  were  perfectly  dry ;  then 
Dr.  Weber,  supplying  himself  with  a  torch,  himself  lit 
the  fire.  The  flames  ran  from  twig  to  twig  with  an  angry 
crackling,  and  soon  leaped  toward  the  sky,  chasing  clouds 
of  smoke  before  them. 

It  was  a  strange  and  savage  spectacle,  the  great  pile 
with  trembling  shadows  lit  up  in  this  way. 

This  cavern  poured  forth  black  smoke,  unceasingly  re- 
newed and  disgorged.  All  around  stood  the  woodcutters, 
somber,  motionless,  expectant,  their  eyes  fixed  on  the 
opening;  and  I,  although  trembling  from  head  to  foot  in 
fear,  could  not  tear  away  my  gaze. 

It  was  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour  that  we  waited,  and 
Dr.  Weber  was  beginning  to  grow  impatient,  when  a  black 
object,  with  long  hooked  claws,  appeared  suddenly  in  the 
shadow  and  precipitated  itself  toward  the  opening, 

A  cry  resounded  about  the  pyre. 

The  spider,  driven  back  by  the  live  coals,  reentered 
its  cave.  Then,  smothered  doubtless  by  the  smoke,  it  re- 
turned to  the  charge  and  leaped  out  into  the  midst  of 
the  flames.  Its  long  legs  curled  up.  It  was  as  large  as 
my  head,  and  of  a  violet  red. 

•One  of  the  woodcutters,  fearing  lest  it  leap  clear  of  the 
fire,  threw  his  hatchet  at  it,  and  with  such  good  aim  that 
on  the  instant  the  fire  around  it  was  covered  with  blood. 
But  soon  the  flames  burst  out  more  vigorously  over  it  and 
consumed  the  horrible  destroyer. 

Such,  Master  Frantz,  was  the  strange  event  which  de- 
stroyed the  fine  reputation  which  the  waters  of  Spinbronn 
formerly  enjoyed.  I  can  certify  the  scrupulous  precision 
of  my  account.  But  as  for  giving  you  an  explanation,  that 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  do.    At  the  same  time, 

128 


Erckmann-Chatrian 


allow  me  to  tell  you  that  it  does  not  seem  to  me  absurd  to 
admit  that  a  spider,  under  the  influence  of  a  tempera- 
ture raised  by  thermal  waters,  which  afifords  the  same  con- 
ditions of  life  and  development  as  the  scorching  climates 
of  Africa  and  South  America,  should  attain  a  fabulous 
size.  It  was  this  same  extreme  heat  which  explains  the 
prodigious  exuberance  of  the  antediluvian  creation ! 

However  that  may  be,  my  tutor,  judging  that  it  would 
be  impossible  after  this  event  to  reestablish  the  waters  of 
Spinbronn,  sold  the  house  back  to  Haselnoss,  in  order 
to  return  to  America  with  his  negress  and  collections.  I 
was  sent  to  board  in  Strasbourg,  where  I  remained  until 
1809. 

The  great  political  events  of  the  epoch  then  absorbing 
the  attention  of  Germany  and  France  explain  why  the  af- 
fair I  have  just  told  you  about  passed  completely  unob- 
served. 


129 


Honore  de  Balzac 


Melmoth  'Reconciled'^ 

To  Monsieur  le  G^ndral  Baron  de  Pommereul,  a  token  of  the 
friendship  between  our  fathers,  which  survives  in  their  sons. 

De  Balzac. 

'^HERE  is  a  special  variety  of  human  nature  obtained  in 
the  Social  Kingdom  by  a  process  analogous  to  that  of 
the  gardener's  craft  in  the  Vegetable  Kingdom,  to  wit,  by 
the  forcing-house — a  species  of  hybrid  which  can  be  raised 
neither  from  seed  nor  from  slips.  This  product  is  known 
as  the  Cashier,  an  anthropomorphous  growth,  watered  by 
religious  doctrine,  trained  up  in  fear  of  the  guillotine, 
pruned  by  vice,  to  flourish  on  a  third  floor  with  an  estimable 
wife  by  his  side  and  an  uninteresting  family.  The  number 
of  cashiers  in  Paris  must  always  be  a  problem  for  the 
physiologist.  Has  anyone  as  yet  been  able  to  state  cor- 
rectly the  terms  of  the  proportion  sum  wherein  the  cashier 
figures  as  the  unknown  xl  Where  will  you  find  the  man 
who  shall  live  with  wealth,  like  a  cat  with  a  caged  mouse  ? 
This  man,  for  further  qualification,  shall  be  capable  of  sit- 
ting boxed  in  behind  an  iron  grating  for  seven  or  eight 
hours  a  day  during  seven-eighths  of  the  year,  perched  upon 
a  cane-seated  chair  in  a  space  as  narrow  as  a  Heutenant's 
cabin  on  board  a  man-of-war.  Such  a  man  must  be  able  to 
defy  anchylosis  of  the  knee  and  thigh  joints ;  he  must  have 
a  soul  above  meanness,  in  order  to  live  meanly ;  must  lose 
all  relish  for  money  by  dint  of  handling  it.  Demand  this 
peculiar  specimen  of  any  creed,  educational  system,  school, 
or  institution  you  please,  and  select  Paris,  that  city  of  fiery 

*For  the  narrative  "  Melmoth  the  Wanderer,"  and  a  description 
of  Balzac's  debt  to  its  author,  see  Volume  III,  page  i6i. — Editor. 

130 


Honore  de  Balzac 


ordeals  and  branch  establishment  of  hell,  as  the  soil  in 
which  to  plant  the  said  cashier.  So  be  it.  Creeds,  schools, 
institutions,  and  moral  systems,  all  human  rules  and  regu- 
lations, great  and  small,  will,  one  after  another,  present 
much  the  same  face  that  an  intimate  friend  turns  upon  you 
when  you  ask  him  to  lend  you  a  thousand  francs.  With  a 
dolorous  dropping  of  the  jaw,  they  indicate  the  guillotine, 
much  as  your  friend  aforesaid  will  furnish  you  with  the 
address  of  the  money  lender,  pointing  you  to  one  of  the 
hundred  gates  by  which  a  man  comes  to  the  last  refuge  of 
the  destitute. 

Yet  Nature  has  her  freaks  in  the  making  of  a  man's  mind; 
she  indulges  herself  and  makes  a  few  honest  folk  now  and 
again,  and  now  and  then  a  cashier. 

Wherefore,  that  race  of  corsairs  whom  we  dignify  with 
the  title  of  bankers,  the  gentry  who  take  out  a  license  for 
which  they  pay  a  thousand  crowns,  as  the  privateer  takes 
out  his  letters  of  marque,  hold  these  rare  products  of  the 
incubations  of  virtue  in  such  esteem  that  they  confine  them 
in  cages  in  their  counting-houses,  much  as  governments 
procure  and  maintain  specimens  of  strange  beasts  at  their 
own  charges. 

If  the  cashier  is  possessed  of  an  imagination  or  of  a  fervid 
temperament;  if,  as  will  sometimes  happen  to  the  most 
complete  cashier,  he  loves  his  wife,  and  that  wife  grows 
tired  of  her  lot,  has  ambitions,  or  merely  some  vanity  in 
her  composition,  the  cashier  is  undone.  Search  the  chroni- 
cles of  the  counting-house.  You  will  not  find  a  single  in- 
stance of  a  cashier  attaining  a  position,  as  it  is  called.  They 
are  sent  to  the  hulks ;  they  go  to  foreign  parts ;  they  vege- 
tate on  a  second  floor  in  the  Rue  Saint-Louis  among  the 
market  gardens  of  the  Marais.  Some  day,  when  the 
cashiers  of  Paris  come  to  a  sense  of  their  real  value,  a 
cashier  will  be  hardly  obtainable  for  money.  Still,  certain 
it  is  that  there  are  people  who  are  fit  for  nothing  but  to  be 
cashiers,  just  as  the  bent  of  a  certain  order  of  mind  in- 
evitably makes  for  rascality.  But,  oh  marvel  of  our  civil- 
ization !    Society  rewards  virtue  with  an  income  of  a  hun- 

131 


French  Mystery  Stories 

■dred  louis  in  old  age,  a  dwelling  on  a  second  floor,  bread 
sufficient,  occasional  new  bandana  handkerchiefs,  an  elderly 
wife  and  her  offspring. 

So  much  for  virtue.  But  for  the  opposite  course,  a  little 
boldness,  a  faculty  for  keeping  on  the  windward  side  of 
the  law,  as  Turenne  outflanked  Montecuculli,  and  Society 
will  sanction  the  theft  of  millions,  shower  ribbons  upon  the 
thief,  cram  him  with  honors,  and  smother  him  with  con- 
sideration. 

Government,  moreover,  works  harmoniously  with  this 
profoundly  illogical  reasoner — Society.  Government  levies 
a  conscription  on  the  young  intelligence  of  the  kingdom 
at  the  age  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  a  conscription  of  pre- 
cocious power.  Great  ability  is  prematurely  exhausted 
by  excessive  brain  work  before  it  is  sent  up  to  be  submit- 
ted to  a  process  of  selection.  Nurserymen  sort  and  select 
seeds  in  much  the  same  way.  To  this  process  the  Gov- 
ernment brings  professional  appraisers  of  talent,  men  who 
can  assay  brains  as  experts  assay  gold  at  the  Mint.  Five 
hundred  such  heads,  set  afire  with  hope,  are  sent  up  annu- 
ally by  the  most  progressive  portion  of  the  population ;  and 
of  these  the  Government  takes  one  third,  puts  them  in 
sacks  called  the  Ecoles,  and  shakes  them  up  together  for 
three  years.  Though  every  one  of  these  young  plants  rep- 
resents vast^roductive  power,  they  are  made,  as  one  may 
say,  into  cashiers.  They  receive  appointments;  the  rank 
and  file  of  engineers  is  made  up  of  them;  they  are  em- 
ployed as  captains  of  artillery ;  there  is  no  (subaltern)  grade 
to  which  they  may  not  aspire.  Finally,  when  these  men, 
the  pick  of  the  youth  of  the  nation,  fattened  on  mathematics 
and  stuffed  with  knowledge,  have  attained  the  age  of  fifty 
years,  they  have  their  reward,  and  receive  as  the  price  of 
.  their  services  the  third-floor  lodging,  the  wife  and  family, 
and  all  the  comforts  that  sweeten  life  for  mediocrity.  If 
from  among  this  race  of  dupes  there  should  escape  some 
five  or  six  men  of  genius  who  climb  the  highest  heights, 
is  it  not  miraculous? 

This  is  an  exact  statement  of  the  relations  between  Tal- 

132 


Honore  de  Balzac 


ent  and  Probity  on  the  one  hand,  and  Government  and 
Society  on  the  other,  in  an  age  that  considers  itself  to  be 
progressive.  Without  this  prefatory  explanation  a  recent 
occurrence  in  Paris  would  seem  improbable ;  but  preceded 
by  this  summing  up  of  the  situation,  it  will  perhaps  receive 
some  thoughtful  attention  from  minds  capable  of  recog- 
nizing the  real  plague  spots  of  our  civilization,  a  civiliza- 
tion which  since  1815  has  been  moved  by  the  spirit  of  gain 
rather  than  by  principles  of  honor. 

About  five  o'clock,  on  a  dull  autumn  afternoon,  the 
cashier  of  one  of  the  largest  banks  in  Paris  was  still  at  his 
desk,  working  by  the  light  of  a  lamp  that  had  been  lit  for 
some  time.  In  accordance  with  the  use  and  wont  of  com- 
merce, the  counting-house  was  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the 
low-ceiled  and  far  from  spacious  mezzanine  floor,  and  at 
the  very  end  of  a  passage  lighted  only  by  borrowed  lights. 
The  office  doors  along  this  corridor,  each  with  its  labels 
gave  the  place  the  look  of  a  bath-house.  At  four  o'clock 
the  stolid  porter  had  proclaimed,  according  to  his  orders, 
The  bank  is  closed."  And  by  this  time  the  departments 
were  deserted,  the  letters  dispatched,  the  clerks  had  taken 
their  leave.  The  wives  of  the  partners  in  the  firm  were 
expecting  their  lovers ;  the  two  bankers  dining  with  their 
mistresses.    Everything  was  in  order. 

The  place  where  the  strong  boxes  had  been  bedded  in 
sheet  iron  was  just  behind  the  little  sanctum,  where  the 
cashier  was  busy.  Doubtless  he  was  balancing  his  books. 
The  open  front  gave  a  glimpse  of  a  safe  of  hammered  iron, 
so  enormously  heavy  (thanks  to  the  science  of  the  modern 
inventor)  that  burglars  could  not  carry  it  away.  The  door 
only  opened  at  the  pleasure  of  those  who  knew  its  pass- 
word. The  letter-lock  was  a  warden  who  kept  its  own 
secret  and  could  not  be  bribed;  the  mysterious  word  was 
an  ingenious  realization  of  the  "  Open  sesame ! ''  in  the 
Arabian  Nights,  But  even  this  was  as  nothing.  A  man 
might  discover  the  password ;  but  unless  he  knew  the  lock's 
final  secret,  the  ultima  ratio  of  this  gold-guarding  dragon 

133 


French  Mystery  Stories 

of  mechanical  science,  it  discharged  a  blunderbuss  at  his 
head. 

The  door  of  the  room,  the  walls  of  the  room,  the  shut- 
ters of  the  windows  in  the  room,  the  whole  place,  in  fact, 
w^as  lined  with  sheet  iron  a  third  of  an  inch  in  thickness, 
concealed  behind  the  thin  wooden  paneling.  The  shutters 
had  been  closed,  the  door  had  been  shut.  If  ever  man 
could  feel  confident  that  he  was  absolutely  alone,  and  that 
there  was  no  remote  possibility  of  being  watched  by  pry- 
ing eyes,  that  man  was  the  cashier  of  the  house  of  Nucingen 
and  Company  in  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare. 

Accordingly  the  deepest  silence  prevailed  in  that  iron 
cave.  The  fire  had  died  out  in  the  stove,  but  the  room  was 
full  of  that  tepid  warmth  which  produces  the  dull  heavy- 
headedness  and  nauseous  queasiness  of  a  morning  after  an 
orgy.  The  stove  is  a  mesmerist  that  plays  no  small  part 
in  the  reduction  of  bank  clerks  and  porters  to  a  state  of 
idiocy. 

A  room  with  a  stove  in  it  is  a  retort  in  which  the  power 
of  strong  men  is  evaporated,  where  their  vitality  is  ex- 
hausted, and  their  wills  enfeebled.  Government  oflfices  are 
part  of  a  great  scheme  for  the  manufacture  of  the  medi- 
ocrity necessary  for  the  maintenance  of  a  Feudal  System 
on  a  pecuniary  basis — and  money  is  the  foundation  of  the 
Social  Contract.  (See  Les  Employes.)  The  mephitic  vapors 
in  the  atmosphere  of  a  crowded  room  contribute  in  no 
small  degree  to  bring  about  a  gradual  deterioration  of  in- 
telligences, the  brain  that  gives  off  the  largest  quantity  of 
nitrogen  asphyxiates  the  others,  in  the  long  run. 

The  cashier  was  a  man  of  five  and  forty  or  thereabouts. 
As  he  sat  at  the  table,  the  light  from  a  moderator  lamp 
shining  full  on  his  bald  head  and  glistening  fringe  of  iron- 
gray  hair  that  surrounded  it — this  baldness  and  the  round 
outlines  of  his  face  made  his  head  look  very  like  a  ball. 
His  complexion  was  brick-red,  a  few  wrinkles  had  gathered 
about  his  eyes,  but  he  had  the  smooth,  plump  hands  of  a 
stout  man.  His  blue  cloth  coat,  a  little  rubbed  and  worn, 
and  the  creases  and  shininess  of  his  trousers,  traces  of  hard 

134 


Honore  de  Balzac 


wear  that  the  clothes-brush  fails  to  remove,  would  impress 
a  superficial  observer  with  the  idea  that  here  was  a  thrifty 
and  upright  human  being,  sufficient  of  the  philosopher  or 
of  the  aristocrat  to  wear  shabby  clothes.  But,  unluck- 
ily, it  is  easy  to  find  penny-wise  people  who  will  prove 
weak,  wasteful,  or  incompetent  in  the  capital  things  of 
life. 

The  cashier  wore  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
at  his  buttonhole,  for  he  had  been  a  major  of  dragoons  in 
the  time  of  the  Emperor.  M.  de  Nucingen,  who  had  been 
a  contractor  before  he  became  a  banker,  had  had  reason 
in  those  days  to  know  the  honorable  disposition  of  his 
cashier,  who  then  occupied  a  high  position.  Reverses  of 
fortune  had  befallen  the  major,  and  the  banker  out  of  re~ 
gard  for  him  paid  him  five  hundred  francs  a  month.  The 
soldier  had  become  a  cashier  in  the  year  1813,  after  his 
recovery  from  a  wound  received  at  Studzianka  during  the 
Retreat  from  Moscow,  followed  by  six  months  of  enforced 
idleness  at  Strasbourg,  whither  several  officers  had  been 
transported  by  order  of  the  Emperor,  that  they  might  re- 
ceive skilled  attention.  This  particular  officer,  Castanier  by 
name,  retired  with  the  honorary  grade  of  colonel,  and  a 
pension  of  two  thousand  four  hundred  francs. 

In  ten  years'  time  the  cashier  had  completely  effaced 
the  soldier,  and  Castanier  inspired  the  banker  with  such 
trust  in  him,  that  he  was  associated  in  the  transactions  that 
went  on  in  the  private  office  behind  his  little  counting- 
house.  The  baron  himself  had  access  to  it  by  means  of  a 
secret  staircase.  There,  matters  of  business  were  decided. 
It  was  the  bolting  room  where  proposals  were  sifted;  the 
privy  council  chamber  where  the  reports  of  the  money 
market  were  analyzed;  circular  notes  issued  thence;  and 
finally,  the  private  ledger  and  the  journal  which  summar- 
ized the  work  of  all  the  departments  were  kept  there. 

Castanier  had  gone  himself  to  shut  the  door  which 
opened  on  to  a  staircase  that  led  to  the  parlor  occupied 
by  the  two  bankers  on  the  first  floor  of  their  hotel.  This 
done,  he  had  sat  down  at  his  desk  again,  and  for  a  moment 

135 


French  Mystery  Stories 

he  gazed  at  a  little  collection  of  letters  of  credit  drawn  on 
the  firm  of  Watschildine  of  London.  Then  he  had  taken 
up  the  pen  and  imitated  the  banker's  signature  upon  each. 
Nucingen  he  wrote,  and  eyed  the  forged  signatures  critically 
to  see  which  seemed  the  most  perfect  copy. 

Suddenly  he  looked  up  as  if  a  needle  had  pricked  him. 

You  are  not  alone ! a  boding  voice  seemed  to  cry  in 
his  heart;  and  indeed  the  forger  saw  a  man  standing  at  the 
little  grated  window  of  the  counting-house,  a  man  whose 
breathing  was  so  noiseless  that  he  did  not  seem  to  breathe 
at  all.  Castanier  looked,  and  saw  that  the  door  at  the  end 
of  the  passage  was  wide  open ;  the  stranger  must  have  en- 
tered by  that  way. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  old  soldier  felt  a  sensa- 
tion of  dread  that  made  him  stare  open-mouthed  and  wide- 
eyed  at  the  man  before  him;  and  for  that  matter,  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  apparition  was  sufficiently  alarming  even 
if  unaccompanied  by  the  mysterious  circumstances  of  so 
sudden  an  entry.  The  rounded  forehead,  the  harsh  coloring 
of  the  long  oval  face,  indicated  quite  as  plainly  as  the  cut 
of  his  clothes  that  the  man  was  an  Englishman,  reeking  of 
his  native  isles.  You  had  only  to  look  at  the  collar  of  his 
overcoat,  at  the  voluminous  cravat  which  smothered  the 
crushed  frills  of  a  shirt  front  so  white  that  it  brought  out 
the  changeless  leaden  hue  of  an  impassive  face,  and  the 
thin  red  line  of  the  lips  that  seemed  made  to  suck  the  blood 
of  corpses ;  and  you  could  guess  at  once  at  the  black  gaiters 
buttoned  up  to  the  knee,  and  the  half-puritanical  costume 
of  a  wealthy  Englishman  dressed  for  a  walking  excur- 
sion. The  intolerable  glitter  of  the  stranger's  eyes  pro- 
duced a  vivid  and  unpleasant  impression,  which  was  only 
deepened  by  the  rigid  outlines  of  his  features.  The  dried- 
up,  emaciated  creature  seemed  to  carry  within  him  some 
gnawing  thought  that  consumed  him  and  could  not  be 
appeased. 

He  must  have  digested  his  food  so  rapidly  that  he  could 
doubtless  eat  continually  without  bringing  any  trace  of 
color  into  his  face  or  features.   A  tun  of  Tokay  vin  de  sue- 

136 


Honore  de  Balzac 


cession  would  not  have  caused  any  faltering  in  that  piercing 
glance  that  read  men's  inmost  thoughts,  nor  dethroned  the 
merciless  reasoning  faculty  that  always  seemed  to  go  to  the 
bottom  of  things.  There  was  something  of  the  fell  and 
tranquil  majesty  of  a  tiger  about  him. 

I  have  come  to  cash  this  bill  of  exchange,  sir,''  he  said. 
Castanier  felt  the  tones  of  his  voice  thrill  through  every 
nerve  with  a  violent  shock  similar  to  that  given  by  a  dis- 
charge of  electricity. 

"  The  safe  is  closed,''  said  Castanier. 

It  is  open,"  said  the  Englishman,  looking  round  the 
counting-house.  To-morrow  is  Sunday,  and  I  cannot  wait. 
The  amount  is  for  five  hundred  thousand  francs.  You  have 
the  money  there,  and  I  must  have  it." 

But  how  did  you  come  in,  sir?" 
The  Englishman  smiled.  That  smile  frightened  Castanier. 
No  words  could  have  replied  more  fully  nor  more  peremp- 
torily than  that  scornful  and  imperial  curl  of  the  stranger's 
lips.  Castanier  turned  away,  took  up  fifty  packets,  each 
containing  ten  thousand  francs  in  bank  notes,  and  held 
them  out  to  the  stranger,  receiving  in  exchange  for  them 
a  bill  accepted  by  the  Baron  de  Nucingen.  A  sort  of  con- 
vulsive tremor  ran  through  him  as  he  saw  a  red  gleam  in 
the  stranger's  eyes  when  they  fell  on  the  forged  signature 
on  the  letter  of  credit. 

'Tt  .  .  .  it  wants  your  signature  .  .  ."  stammered  Cas-  ' 
tanier,  handing  back  the  bill. 

Hand  me  your  pen,"  answered  the  Englishman. 
Castanier  handed  him  the  pen  with  which  he  had  just 
committed  forgery.  The  stranger  wrote  John  Melmoth,  then 
he  returned  the  slip  of  paper  and  the  pen  to  the  cashier. 
Castanier  looked  at  the  handwriting,  noticing  that  it  sloped 
from  right  to  left  in  the  Eastern  fashion,  and  Melmoth  dis- 
appeared so  noiselessly  that  when  Castanier  looked  up 
again  an  exclamation  broke  from  him,  partly  because  the 
man  was  no  longer  there,  partly  because  he  felt  a  strange 
painful  sensation  such  as  our  imagination  might  take  for 
an  effect  of  poison. 

137 


French  Mystery  Stories 

The  pen  that  Melmoth  had  handled  sent  the  same  sick- 
ening heat  through  him  that  an  emetic  produces.  But  it 
seemed  impossible  to  Castanier  that  the  Englishman  should 
have  guessed  his  crime.  His  inward  qualms  he  attributed 
to  the  palpitation  of  the  heart  that,  according  to  received 
ideas,  was  sure  to  follow  at  once  on  such  a  turn as  the 
stranger  had  given  him. 

The  devil  take  it ;  I  am  very  stupid.  Providence  is 
watching  over  me;  for  if  that  brute  had  come  round  to 
see  my  gentlemen  to-morrow,  my  goose  would  have  been 
cooked !  "  said  Castanier,  and  he  burned  the  unsuccessful 
attempts  at  forgery  in  the  stove. 

He  put  the  bill  that  he  meant  to  take  with  him  in  an 
envelope,  and  helped  himself  to  five  hundred  thousand 
francs  in  French  and  English  bank  notes  from  the  safe, 
which  he  locked.  Then  he  put  everything  in  order,  lit  a 
candle,  blew  out  the  lamp,  took  up  his  hat  and  umbrella, 
and  went  out  sedately,  as  usual,  to  leave  one  of  the  two 
keys  of  the  strong  room  with  Madame  de  Nucingen,  in  the 
absence  of  her  husband  the  baron. 

"  You  are  in  luck,  M.  Castanier,"  said  the  banker's  wife 
as  he  entered  her  room ;  "  we  have  a  holiday  on  Monday ; 
you  can  go  into  the  country,  or  to  Soizy." 

"  Madame,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  your  husband 
that  the  bill  of  exchange  on  Watschildine,  which  was  be- 
hind time,  has  just  been  presented?  The  five  hundred 
thousand  francs  have  been  paid;  so  I  shall  not  come  back 
till  noon  on  Tuesday." 

Good-by,  monsieur ;  I  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant 
time." 

The  same  to  you,  madame,"  replied  the  old  dragoon 
as  he  went  out.  He  glanced  as  he  spoke  at  a  young  man 
well  known  in  fashionable  society  at  that  time,  a  M.  de 
Rastignac,  who  was  regarded  as  Madame  de  Nucingen's 
lover. 

"  Madame,"  remarked  this  latter,    the  old  boy  looks  to 
me  as  if  he  meant  to  play  you  some  ill  turn." 
"  Pshaw !  impossible ;  he  is  too  stupid." 

138 


Honore  de  Balzac 


Piquoizeau/*  said  the  cashier,  walking  into  the  porter's 
room,  "  what  made  you  let  anybody  come  up  after  four 
o'clock?" 

I  have  been  smoking  a  pipe  here  in  the  doorway  ever 
since  four  o'clock,"  said  the  man,  and  nobody  has  gone 
into  the  bank.    Nobody  has  come  out  either  except  the 

gentlemen  " 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes,  upon  my  word  and  honor.  Stay,  though,  at  four 
o'clock  M.  Werbrust's  friend  came,  a  young  fellow  from 
Messrs.  du  Tillet  &  Co.,  in  the  Rue  Joubert." 

"  All  right,"  said  Castanier,  and  he  hurried  away. 

The  sickening  sensation  of  heat  that  he  had  felt  when 
he  took  back  the  pen  returned  in  greater  intensity.  Mille 
diables !  "  thought  he,  as  he  threaded  his  way  along  the 
Boulevard  de  Gand,  "  haven't  I  taken  proper  precautions  ? 
Let  me  think !  Two  clear  days,  Sunday  and  Monday,  then 
a  day  of  uncertainty  before  they  begin  to  look  for  me ;  alto- 
gether, three  days  and  four  nights'  respite.  I  have  a  couple 
of  passports  and  two  different  disguises ;  is  not  that  enough 
to  throw  the  cleverest  detective  oflf  the  scent  ?  On  Tuesday 
morning  I  shall  draw  a  million  francs  in  London  before  the 
slightest  suspicion  has  been  aroused.  My  debts  I  am  leav- 
ing behind  for  the  benefit  of  my  .creditors,  who  will  put  a 
*  P '  ^  on  the  bills,  and  I  shall  live  comfortably  in  Italy  for 
the  rest  of  my  days  as  the  Conte  Ferraro.  I  was  alone  with 
him  when  he  died,  poor  fellow,  in  the  marsh  of  Zembin, 
and  I  shall  slip  into  his  skin.  .  .  .  Mille  diables!  the  woman 
who  is  to  follow  after  me  might  give  them  a  clew !  Think  of 
an  old  campaigner  like  me  infatuated  enough  to  tie  myself  to 
a  petticoat  tail!  .  .  .  Why  take  her?  I  must  leave  her  be- 
hind. Yes,  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to  it;  but — I  know 
myself — I  should  be  ass  enough  to  go  back  for  her.  Still, 
nobody  knows  Aquilina.    Shall  I  take  her  or  leave  her?" 

You  will  not  take  her !  "  cried  a  voice  that  filled  Cas- 
tanier with  sickening  dread.  He  turned  sharply,  and  saw 
the  EngHshman. 

» Protested. 
139 


French  Mystery  Stories 

The  devil  is  in  it !  "  cried  the  cashier  aloud. 
Melmoth  had  passed  his  victim  by  this  time ;  and  if  Cas- 
tanier's  first  impulse  had  been  to  fasten  a  quarrel  on  a  man 
who  read  his  own  thoughts,  he  was  so  much  torn  by  op- 
posing feelings  that  the  immediate  result  was  a  temporary 
paralysis.  When  he  resumed  his  walk  he  fell  once  more 
into  that  fever  of  irresolution  which  besets  those  who  are 
so  carried  away  by  passion  that  they  are  ready  to  commit 
a  crime,  but  have  not  sufficient  strength  of  character  to 
keep  it  to  themselves  without  suffering  terribly  in  the  proc- 
ess. So,  although  Castanier  had  made  up  his  mind  to  reap 
the  fruits  of  a  crime  which  was  already  half  executed,  he 
hesitated  to  carry  out  his  designs.  For  him,  as  for  many 
men  of  mixed  character  in  whom  weakness  and  strength 
are  equally  blended,  the  least  trifling  consideration  deter- 
mines whether  they  shall  continue  to  lead  blameless  lives 
or  become  actively  criminal.  In  the  vast  masses  of  men 
enrolled  in  Napoleon's  armies  there  were  many  who,  like 
Castanier,  possessed  the  purely  physical  courage  demanded 
on  the  battlefield,  yet  lacked  the  moral  courage  which 
makes  a  man  as  great  in  crime  as  he  could  have  been  in 
virtue. 

The  letter  of  credit  was  drafted  in  such  terms  that  im- 
mediately on  his  arrival  he  might  draw  twenty-five  thou- 
sand pounds  on  the  firm  of  Watschildine,  the  London  cor- 
respondents of  the  house  of  Nucingen.  The  London  house 
had  been  already  advised  of  the  draft  about  to  be  made 
upon  them ;  he  had  written  to  them  himself.  He  had  in- 
structed an  agent  (chosen  at  random)  to  take  his  passage 
in  a  vessel  which  was  to  leave  Portsmouth  with  a  wealthy 
English  family  on  board,  who  were  going  to  Italy,  and  the 
passage  money  had  been  paid  in  the  name  of  the  Conte 
Ferraro.  The  smallest  details  of  the  scheme  had  been 
thought  out.  He  had  arranged  matters  so  as  to  divert  the 
search  that  would  be  made  for  him  into  Belgium  and  Swit- 
zerland, while  he  himself  was  at  sea  in  the  English  vessel. 
Then,  by  the  time  that  Nucingen  might  flatter  himself  that 
he  was  on  the  track  of  his  late  cashier,  the  said  cashier,  as 

140 


Honor c  de  Bakac 


the  Conte  Ferraro,  hoped  to  be  safe  in  Naples.  He  had 
determined  to  disfigure  his  face  in  order  to  disguise  him- 
self the  more  completely,  and  by  means  of  an  acid  to  imi- 
tate the  scars  of  smallpox.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  pre- 
cautions, which  surely  seemed  as  if  they  must  secure  him 
complete  immunity,  his  conscience  tormented  him ;  he  was 
afraid.  The  even  and  peaceful  life  that  he  had  led  for  so 
long  had  modified  the  morality  of  the  camp.  His  life  was 
stainless  as  yet;  he  could  not  sully  it  without  a  pang.  So 
for  the  last  time  he  abandoned  himself  to  all  the  influences 
of  the  better  self  that  strenuously  resisted. 

"  Pshaw !  "  he  said  at  last,  at  the  corner  of  the  Boulevard 
and  the  Rue  Montmartre,  "  I  will  take  a  cab  after  the  play 
this  evening  and  go  out  to  Versailles.  A  post-chaise  will 
be  ready  for  me  at  my  old  quartermaster's  place.  He  would 
keep  my  secret  even  if  a  dozen  men  were  standing  ready 
to  shoot  him  down.  The  chances  are  all  in  my  favor,  so 
far  as  I  see ;  so  I  shall  take  my  little  Naqui  with  me,  and  I 
will  go." 

"  You  will  not  go !  "  exclaimed  the  Englishman,  and  the 
strange  tones  of  his  voice  drove  all  the  cashier's  blood  back 
to  his  heart. 

Melmoth  stepped  into  a  tilbury  which  was  waiting  for 
him,  and  was  whirled  away  so  quickly,  that  when  Castanier 
looked  up  he  saw  his  foe  some  hundred  paces  away  from 
him,  and  before  it  even  crossed  his  mind  to  cut  oflf  the 
man's  retreat  the  tilbury  was  far  on  its  way  up  the  Boule- 
vard Montmartre. 

Well,  upon  my  word,  there  is  something  supernatural 
about  this !  "  said  he  to  himself.  If  I  were  fool  enough 
to  believe  in  God,  I  should  think  that  He  had  set  Saint 
Michael  on  my  tracks.  Suppose  that  the  devil  and  the 
police  should  let  me  go  on  as  I  please,  so  as  to  nab  me 
in  the  nick  of  time  ?  Did  anyone  ever  see  the  like !  But 
there,  this  is  folly.  .  . 

Castanier  went  along  the  Rue  du  Faubourg-Montm^artre, 
slackening  his  pace  as  he  neared  the  Rue  Richer.  There, 
on  the  second  floor  of  a  block  of  buildings  which  looked 

141 


French  Mystery  Stories 

out  upon  some  gardens,  lived  the  unconscious  cause  of 
Castanier's  crime — a  young  woman  known  in  the  quarter  as 
Mme.  de  la  Garde.  A  concise  history  of  certain  events  in 
the  cashier's  past  life  must  be  given  in  order  to  explain 
these  facts,  and  to  give  a  complete  presentment  of  the  crisis 
when  he  yielded  to  temptation. 

Mme.  de  la  Garde  said  that  she  was  a  Piedmontese.  No 
one,  not  even  Castanier,  knew  her  real  name.  She  was 
one  of  those  young  girls  who  are  driven  by  dire  misery, 
by  inability  to  earn  a  living,  or  by  fear  of  starvation,  to  have 
recourse  to  a  trade  which  most  of  them  loathe,  many  re- 
gard with  indifference,  and  some  few  follow  in  obedience  to 
the  laws  of  their  constitution.  But  on  the  brink  of  the 
gulf  of  prostitution  in  Paris,  the  young  girl  of  sixteen, 
beautiful  and  pure  as  the  Madonna,  had  met  with  Castanier. 
The  old  dragoon  was  too  rough  and  homely  to  make  his 
way  in  society,  and  he  was  tired  of  tramping  the  boulevard 
at  night  and  of  the  kind  of  conquests  made  there  by  gold. 
For  some  time  past  he  had  desired  to  bring  a  certain  regu- 
larity into  an  irregular  life.  He  was  struck  by  the  beauty 
of  the  poor  child  who  had  drifted  by  chance  into  his  arms, 
and  his  determination  to  rescue  her  from  the  life  of  the 
streets  was  half  benevolent,  half  selfish,  as  some  of  the 
thoughts  of  the  best  of  men  are  apt  to  be.  Social  con- 
ditions mingle  elements  of  evil  with  the  promptings  of 
natural  goodness  of  heart,  and  the  mixture  of  motives  un- 
derlying a  man's  intentions  should  be  leniently  judged.  Cas- 
tanier had  just  cleverness  enough  to  be  very  shrewd  where 
his  own  interests  were  concerned.  So  he  concluded  to  be 
a  philanthropist  on  either  count,  and  at  first  made  her  his 
mistress. 

Hey !  hey ! "  he  said  to  himself,  in  his  soldierly  fashion, 
I  am  an  old  wolf,  and  a  sheep  shall  not  make  a  fool  of 
me.    Castanier,  old  man,  before  you  set  up  housekeeping, 
reconnoiter  the  girFs  character  for  a  bit,  and  see  if  she  is 
a  steady  sort.'' 

This  irregular  union  gave  the  Piedmontese  a  status  the 
most  nearly  approaching  respectability  among  those  which 

142 


Honore  de  Balzac 

the  world  declines  to  recognize.  During  the  first  year  she 
took  the  nom  de  guerre  of  Aquilina,  one  of  the  characters  in 
Venice  Preserved  which  she  had  chanced  to  read.  She  fan- 
cied that  she  resembled  the  courtesan  in  face  and  general 
appearance,  and  in  a  certain  precocity  of  heart  and  brain 
of  which  she  was  conscious.  When  Castanier  found  that 
her  life  was  as  well  regulated  and  virtuous  as  was  possible 
for  a  social  outlaw,  he  manifested  a  desire  that  they  should 
live  as  husband  and  wife.  So  she  took  the  name  of  Mme. 
de  la  Garde,  in  order  to  approach,  as  closely  as  Parisian 
usages  permit,  the  conditions  of  a  real  marriage.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  many  of  these  unfortunate  girls  have  one 
fixed  idea,  to  be  looked  upon  as  respectable  middle-class 
women,  who  lead  humdrum  lives  of  faithfulness  to  their 
husbands;  women  who  would  make  excellent  mothers, 
keepers  of  household  accounts,  and  menders  of  household 
linen.  This  longing  springs  from  a  sentiment  so  laudable 
that  society  should  take  it  into  consideration.  But  society, 
incorrigible  as  ever,  will  assuredly  persist  in  regarding  the 
married  woman  as  a  corvette  duly  authorized  by  her  flag 
and  papers  to  go  on  her  own  course,  while  the  woman  who 
is  a  wife  in  all  but  name  is  a  pirate  and  an  outlaw  for  lack 
of  a  document.  A  day  came  when  Mme.  de  la  Garde  would 
fain  have  signed  herself  Mme.  Castanier."  The  cashier 
was  put  out  by  this. 

"  So  you  do  not  love  me  well  enough  to  marry  me  ?  " 
she  said. 

Castanier  did  not  answer;  he  was  absorbed  by  his 
thoughts.  The  poor  girl  resigned  herself  to  her  fate.  The 
ex-dragoon  was  in  despair.  Naqui's  heart  softened  toward 
him  at  the  sight  of  his  trouble ;  she  tried  to  soothe  him, 
but  what  could  she  do  when  she  did  not  know  what  ailed 
him  ?  When  Naqui  made  up  her  mind  to  know  the  secret, 
although  she  never  asked  him  a  question,  the  cashier  dole- 
fully confessed  to  the  existence  of  a  Mme.  Castanier.  This 
lawful  wife,  a  thousand  times  accursed,  was  living  in  a  hum- 
ble way  in  Strasbourg  on  a  small  property  there ;  he  wrote 
to  her  twice  a  year,  and  kept  the  secret  of  her  existence 

143 


French  Mystery  Stories 

so  well,  that  no  one  suspected  that  he  was  married.  The 
reason  of  this  reticence  ?  If  it  is  familiar  to  many  military 
men  who  ma}^  chance  to  be  in  a  like  predicament,  it  is  per- 
haps worth  while  to  give  the  story. 

Your  genuine  trooper  (if  it  is  allowable  here  to  employ 
the  word  which  in  the  army  signifies  a  man  who  is  des- 
tined to  die  as  a  captain)  is  a  sort  of  serf,  a  part  and  parcel 
of  his  regiment,  an  essentially  simple  creature,  and  Castanier 
was  marked  out  by  nature  as  a  victim  to  the  wiles  of 
mothers  with  grown-up  daughters  left  too  long  on  their 
hands.  It  was  at  Nancy,  during  one  of  those  brief  intervals 
of  repose  when  the  Imperial  armies  were  not  on  active 
service  abroad,  that  Castanier  was  so  unlucky  as  to  pay 
some  attention  to  a  young  lady  with  whom  he  danced  at  a 
ridotto,  the  provincial  name  for  the  entertainments  often 
given  by  the  military  to  the  townsfolk,  or  vice  versa,  in 
garrison  towns.  A  scheme  for  inveigling  the  gallant  cap- 
tain into  matrimony  was  immediately  set  on  foot,  one  of 
those  schemes  by  which  mothers  secure  accomplices  in  a 
human  heart  by  touching  all  its  motive  springs,  while  they 
convert  all  their  friends  into  fellow-conspirators.  Like  all 
people  possessed  by  one  idea,  these  ladies  press  everything 
into  the  service  of  their  great  project,  slowly  elaborating 
their  toils,  much  as  the  ant-lion  excavates  its  funnel  in  the 
sand  and  lies  in  wait  at  the  bottom  for  its  victim.  Suppose 
that  no  one  strays,  after  all,  into  that  carefully  constructed 
labyrinth?  Suppose  that  the  ant-lion  dies  of  hunger  and 
thirst  in  her  pit  ?  Such  things  may  be,  but  if  any  heedless 
creature  once  enters  in,  it  never  comes  out.  All  the  wires 
which  could  be  pulled  to  induce  action  on  the  captain's 
part  were  tried ;  appeals  were  made  to  the  secret  interested 
motives  that  always  come  into  play  in  such  cases ;  they 
worked  on  Castanier's  hopes  and  on  the  weaknesses  and 
vanity  of  human  nature.  Unluckily,  he  had  praised  the 
daughter  to  her  mother  when  he  brought  her  back  after 
a  waltz,  a  little  chat  followed,  and  then  an  invitation  in  the 
most  natural  way  in  the  world.  Once  introduced  into  the 
house,  the  dragoon  was  dazzled  by  the  hospitality  of  a 

144 


Honore  de  Balzac 


family  who  appeared  to  conceal  their  real  wealth  beneath 
a  show  of  careful  economy.  He  was  skillfully  flattered  on 
all  sides,  and  everyone  extolled  for  his  benefit  the  various 
treasures  there  displayed.  A  neatly  timed  dinner,  served 
on  plate  lent  by  an  uncle,  the  attention  shown  to  him  by 
the  only  daughter  of  the  house,  the  gossip  of  the  town,  a 
well-to-do  sub-lieutenant  who  seemed  likely  to  cut  the 
ground  from  under  his  feet — all  the  innumerable  snares,  in 
short,  of  the  provincial  ant-lion  were  set  for  him,  and  to 
such  good  purpose,  that  Castanier  said  five  years  later,  To 
this  day  I  do  not  know  how  it  came  about !  " 

The  dragoon  received  fifteen  thousand  francs  with  the 
lady,  who,  after  two  years  of  marriage,  became  the  ugliest 
and  consequently  the  most  peevish  woman  on  earth.  Luck- 
ily they  had  no  children.  The  fair  complexion  (maintained 
by  a  Spartan  regimen),  the  fresh,  bright  color  in  her  face, 
which  spoke  of  an  engaging  modesty,  became  overspread 
with  blotches  and  pimples ;  her  figure,  which  had  seemed 
so  straight,  grew  crooked,  the  angel  became  a  suspicious 
and  shrewish  creature  who  drove  Castanier  frantic.  Then 
the  fortune  took  to  itself  wings.  At  length  the  dragoon, 
no  longer  recognizing  the  woman  whom  he  had  wedded, 
left  her  to  live  on  a  little  property  at  Strasbourg,  until  the 
time  when  it  should  please  God  to  remove  her  to  adorn 
Paradise.  She  was  one  of  those  virtuous  women  who,  for 
want  of  other  occupation,  would  weary  the  life  out  of  an 
angel  with  complainings,  who  pray  till  (if  their  prayers  are 
heard  in  heaven)  they  must  exhaust  the  patience  of  the 
Almighty,  and  say  everything  that  is  bad  of  their  husbands 
in  dove-like  murmurs  over  a  game  of  boston  with  their 
neighbors.  When  Aquilina  learned  all  these  troubles  she 
clung  still  more  affectionately  to  Castanier,  and  made  him 
so  happy,  varying  with  woman's  ingenuity  the  pleasures 
with  which  she  filled  his  life,  that  all  unwittingly  she  was 
the  cause  of  the  cashier's  downfall. 

Like  many  women  who  seem  by  nature  destined  to  sound 
all  the  depths  of  love,  Mme.  de  la  Garde  was  disinterested. 
She  asked  neither  for  gold  nor  for  jewelry,  gave  nor- 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

thought  to  the  future,  Hved  entirely  for  the  present  and  for 
the  pleasures  of  the  present.  She  accepted  expensive  or- 
naments and  dresses,  the  carriage  so  eagerly  coveted  by 
women  of  her  class,  as  one  harmony  the  more  in  the  picture 
of  life.  There  was  absolutely  no  vanity  in  her  desire  not 
to  appear  at  a  better  advantage  but  to  look  the  fairer,  and, 
moreover,  no  woman  could  live  without  luxuries  more 
cheerfully.  When  a  man  of  generous  nature  (and  military 
men  are  mostly  of  this  stamp)  meets  with  such  a  woman, 
he  feels  a  sort  of  exasperation  at  finding  himself  her  debtor 
in  generosity.  He  feels  that  he  could  stop  a  mail  coach  to 
obtain  money  for  her  if  he  has  not  sufficient  for  her  whims. 
He  will  commit  a  crime  if  so  he  may  be  great  and  noble 
in  the  eyes  of  some  woman  or  of  his  special  public;  such 
is  the  nature  of  the  man.  Such  a  lover  is  like  a  gambler 
who  would  be  dishonored  in  his  own  eyes  if  he  did  not 
repay  the  sum  he  borrowed  from  a  waiter  in  a  gaming 
house ;  but  will  shrink  from  no  crime,  will  leave  his  wife 
and  children  without  a  penny,  and  rob  and  murder,  if  so 
he  may  come  to  the  gaming  table  with  a  full  purse,  and 
his  honor  remain  untarnished  among  the  frequenters  of 
that  fatal  abode.    So  it  was  with  Castanier. 

He  had  begun  by  installing  Aquilina  in  a  modest  fourth- 
floor  dwelling,  the  furniture  being  of  the  simplest  kind. 
But  when  he  saw  the  girl's  beauty  and  great  qualities,  when 
he  had  known  inexpressible  and  unlooked-for  happiness 
with  her,  he  began  to  dote  upon  her,  and  longed  to  adorn 
his  idol.  Then  Aquilina's  toilet  was  so  comically  out  of 
keeping  with  her  poor  abode,  that  for  both  their  sakes  it 
was  clearly  incumbent  on  him  to  move.  The  change  swal- 
lowed up  almost  all  Castanier's  savings,  for  he  furnished 
his  domestic  paradise  with  all  the  prodigality  that  is  lav- 
ished on  a  kept  mistress.  A  pretty  woman  must  have  every- 
thing pretty  about  her;  the  unity  of  charm  in  the  woman 
and  her  surroundings  singles  her  out  from  among  her  sex. 
This  sentiment  of  homogeneity  indeed,  though  it  has  fre- 
quently escaped  the  attention  of  observers,  is  instinctive  in 
human  nature ;  and  the  same  prompting  leads  elderly  spin- 

146 


Honore  de  Balzac 

sters  to  surround  themselves  with  dreary  reHcs  of  the  past. 
But  the  lovely  Piedmontese  must  have  the  newest  and  lat- 
est fashions,  and  all  that  was  daintiest  and  prettiest  in  stuffs 
for  hangings,  in  silks  or  jewelry,  in  fine  china  and  other 
brittle  and  fragile  wares.  She  asked  for  nothing ;  but  when 
she  was  called  upon  to  make  a  choice,  when  Castanier 
asked  her,  "  Which  do  you  like  ? "  she  would  answer, 

Why,  this  is  the  nicest ! Love  never  counts  the  cost, 
and  Castanier  therefore  always  took  the  nicest." 

When  once  the  standard  had  been  set  up,  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  everything  in  the  household  must  be  in 
conformity,  from  the  linen,  plate,  and  crystal  through  a  thou- 
sand and  one  items  of  expenditure  down  to  the  pots  and 
pans  in  the  kitchen.  Castanier  had  meant  to  do  things 
simply,"  as  the  saying  goes,  but  he  gradually  found  him- 
self more  and  more  in  debt.  One  expense  entailed  another. 
The  clock  called  for  candle  sconces.  Fires  must  be  lighted 
in  the  ornamental  grates,  but  the  curtains  and  hangings 
were  too  fresh  and  delicate  to  be  soiled  by  smuts,  so  they 
must  be  replaced  by  patent  and  elaborate  fireplaces,  war- 
ranted to  give  out  no  smoke,  recent  inventions  of  the  people 
who  are  clever  at  drawing  up  a  prospectus.  Then  Aquilina 
found  it  so  nice  to  run  about  barefooted  on  the  carpet  in 
her  room  that  Castanier  must  have  soft  carpets  laid  every- 
where for  the  pleasure  of  playing  with  Naqui.  A  bathroom, 
too,  was  built  for  her,  everything  to  the  end  that  she 
might  be  more  comfortable. 

Shopkeepers,  workmen,  and  manufacturers  in  Paris  have 
a  mysterious  knack  of  enlarging  a  hole  in  a  man's  purse. 
They  cannot  give  the  price  of  anything  upon  inquiry ;  and 
as  the  paroxysm  of  longing  cannot  abide  delay,  orders  are 
given  by  the  feeble  light  of  an  approximate  estimate  of 
cost.  The  same  people  never  send  in  the  bills  at  once,  but 
ply  the  purchaser  with  furniture  till  his  head  spins.  Every- 
thing is  so  pretty,  so  charming ;  and  everyone  is  satisfied. 

A  few  months  later  the  obliging  furniture  dealers  are 
metamorphosed,  and  reappear  in  the  shape  of  alarming 
totals  on  invoices  that  fill  the  soul  with  their  horrid  clamor ; 

147 


French  Mystery  Stories 

they  are  In  urgent  want  of  the  money;  they  are,  as  you 
may  say,  on  the  brink  of  bankruptcy,  their  tears  flow,  it  is 
heartrending  to  hear  them!  And  then — the  gulf  yawns, 
and  gives  up  serried  columns  of  figures  marching  four  deep, 
when  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  should  have  issued  innocently 
three  by  three. 

Before  Castanier  had  any  idea  of  how  much  he  had  spent, 
he  had  arranged  for  Aquilina  to  have  a  carriage  from  a 
livery  stable  when  she  went  out,  instead  of  a  cab.  Cas- 
tanier was  a  gourmand;  he  engaged  an  excellent  cook; 
and  Aquilina,  to  please  him,  had  herself  made  the  pur- 
chases of  early  fruit  and  vegetables,  rare  delicacies,  and  ex- 
quisite wines.  But,  as  Aquilina  had  nothing  of  her  own, 
these  gifts  of  hers,  so  precious  by  reason  of  the  thought 
and  tact  and  graciousness  that  prompted  them,  were  no 
less  a  drain  upon  Castanier's  purse ;  he  did  not  like  his 
Naqui  to  be  without  money,  and  Naqui  could  not  keep 
money  in  her  pocket.  So  the  table  was  a  heavy  item  of 
expenditure  for  a  man  with  Castanier's  income.  The  ex- 
dragoon  was  compelled  to  resort  to  various  shifts  for  ob- 
taining money,  for  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  renounce 
this  delightful  life.  He  loved  the  woman  too  well  to  cross 
the  freaks  of  the  mistress.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who, 
through  self-love  or  through  weakness  of  character,  can 
refuse  nothing  to  a  woman ;  false  shame  overpowers  them, 
and  they  rather  face  ruin  than  make  the  admissions :  "  I 

cannot  My  means  will  not  permit  "   "  I  cannot 

afford  " 

When,  therefore,  Castanier  saw  that  if  he  meant  to 
emerge  from  the  abyss  of  debt  into  which  he  had  plunged, 
he  must  part  with  Aquilina  and  live  upon  bread  and  water, 
he  was  so  unable  to  do  without  her  or  to  change  his  habits 
of  life,  that  daily  he  put  off  his  plans  of  reform  until  the 
morrow.  The  debts  were  pressing,  and  he  began  by  bor- 
rowing money.  His  position  and  previous  character  in- 
spired confidence,  and  of  this  he  took  advantage  to  devise 
a  system  of  borrowing  money  as  he  required  it.  Then,  as 
the  total  amount  of  debt  rapidly  increased,  he  had  recourse 

148 


Honore  de  Balzac 

to  those  commercial  inventions  known  as  accommodation 
hills.  This  form  of  bill  does  not  represent  goods  or  other 
value  received,  and  the  first  indorser  pays  the  amount 
named  for  the  obliging  person  who  accepts  it.  This  species 
of  fraud  is  tolerated  because  it  is  impossible  to  detect  it, 
and,  moreover,  it  is  an  imaginary  fraud  which  only  be- 
comes real  if  payment  is  ultimately  refused. 

When  at  length  it  was  evidently  impossible  to  borrow 
any  longer,  whether  because  the  amount  of  the  debt  was 
now  so  greatly  increased,  or  because  Castanier  was  unable 
to  pay  the  large  amount  of  interest  on  the  aforesaid  sums 
of  money,  the  cashier  saw  bankruptcy  before  him.  On 
making  this  discovery,  he  decided  for  a  fraudulent  bank- 
ruptcy rather  than  an  ordinary  failure,  and  preferred  a 
crime  to  a  misdemeanor.  He  determined,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  celebrated  cashier  of  the  Royal  Treasury,  to  abuse 
the  trust  deservedly  won,  and  to  increase  the  number  of 
his  creditors  by  making  a  final  loan  of  the  sum  sufficient 
to  keep  him  in  comfort  in  a  foreign  country  for  the  rest  of 
his  days.   All  this,  as  has  been  seen,  he  had  prepared  to  do. 

Aquilina  knew  nothing  of  the  irksome  cares  of  this  life ; 
she  enjoyed  her  existence,  as  many  a  woman  does,  making 
no  inquiry  as  to  where  the  money  came  from,  even  as  sun^ 
dry  other  folk  will  eat  their  buttered  rolls  untroubled  by 
any  restless  spirit  of  curiosity  as  to  the  culture  and  growth 
of  wheat;  but  as  the  labor  and  miscalculations  of  agricul- 
ture lie  on  the  other  side  of  the  baker's  oven,  so,  beneath 
the  unappreciated  luxury  of  many  a  Parisian  household  lie 
intolerable  anxieties  and  exorbitant  toil. 

While  Castanier  was  enduring  the  torture  of  the  strain, 
and  his  thoughts  were  full  of  the  deed  that  should  change 
his  whole  life,  Aquilina  was  lying  luxuriously  back  in  a 
great  armchair  by  the  fireside,  beguiling  the  time  by  chat- 
ting with  her  waiting-maid.  As  frequently  happens  in  such 
cases,  the  maid  had  become  the  mistress's  confidante,  Jenny 
having  first  assured  herself  that  her  mistress's  ascendancy 
over  Castanier  was  complete. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  this  evening  ?    Leon  seems  deter- 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

mined  to  come,"  Mme.  de  la  Garde  was  saying,  as  she  read 
a  passionate  epistle  indicted  upon  a  faint  gray  note  paper. 
Here  is  the  master !  "  said  Jenny. 
Castanier  came  in.   AquiHna,  nowise  disconcerted,  crum- 
pled up  the  letter,  took  it  with  the  tongs,  and  held  it  in 
the  flames. 

So  that  is  what  you  do  with  your  love  letters,  is  it?" 
asked  Castanier. 

Oh,  goodness,  yes,"  said  Aquilina ;  is  it  not  the  best 
way  of  keeping  them  safe  ?  Besides,  fire  should  go  to  the 
fire,  as  water  makes  for  the  river." 

You  are  talking  as  if  it  were  a  real  love  letter,  Na- 
qui  " 

Well,  am  I  not  handsome  enough  to  receive  them  ?  " 
she  said,  holding  up  her  forehead  for  a  kiss.  There  was  a 
carelessness  in  her  manner  that  would  have  told  any  man 
less  blind  than  Castanier  that  it  was  only  a  piece  of  con- 
jugal duty,  as  it  were,  to  give  this  joy  to  the  cashier;  but 
use  and  wont  had  brought  Castanier  to  the  point  where 
clear-sightedness  is  no  longer  possible  for  love. 

I  have  taken  a  box  at  the  Gymnase  this  evening,"  he 
said ;  let  us  have  dinner  early,  and  then  we  need  not  dine 
in  a  hurry." 

"  Go  and  take  Jenny.  I  am  tired  of  plays.  I  do  not 
know  what  is  the  matter  with  me  this  evening;  I  would 
rather  stay  here  by  the  fire." 

Come,  all  the  same  though,  Naqui ;  I  shall  not  be  here 
to  bore  you  much  longer.  Yes,  Quiqui,  I  am  going  to 
start  to-night,  and  it  will  be  some  time  before  I  come  back 
again.  I  am  leaving  everything  in  your  charge.  Will  you 
keep  your  heart  for  me  too  ?  " 

Neither  my  heart  nor  anything  else,"  she  said ;  but 
when  you  come  back  again,  Naqui  will  still  be  Naqui  for 
you." 

Well,  this  is  frankness.  So  you  would  not  follow  me  ?  " 
No." 
"Why  not?" 

Eh !  why,  how  can  I  leave  the  lover  who  writes  me 
150 


Honore  de  Balzac 


such  sweet  little  notes  ? she  asked,  pointing  to  the  black- 
ened scrap  of  paper  with  a  mocking  smile. 

''Is  there  any  truth  in  it?"  asked  Castanier.  "Have 
you  really  a  lover  ?  " 

"Really!"  cried  Aquilina;  "and  have  you  never  given 
it  a  serious  thought,  dear?  To  begin  with,  you  are  fifty 
years  old.  Then  you  have  just  the  sort  of  face  to  put  on  a 
fruit  stall;  if  the  woman  tried  to  sell  you  for  a  pumpkin^ 
no  one  would  contradict  her.  You  puff  and  blow  like  a 
seal  when  you  come  upstairs ;  your  paunch  rises  and  falls 
like  the  diamond  on  a  woman's  forehead !  It  is  pretty  plain 
that  you  served  in  the  dragoons ;  you  are  a  very  ugly- 
looking  old  man.  Fiddle-de-dee.  If  you  have  any  mind 
to  keep  my  respect,  I  recommend  you  not  to  add  imbe- 
cility to  these  qualities  by  imagining  that  such  a  girl  as  I 
am  will  be  content  with  your  asthmatic  love,  and  not  look 
for  youth  and  good  looks  and  pleasure  by  way  of  vari- 


"  Aquilina !  you  are  laughing,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  well ;  and  are  you  not  laughing  too  ?  Do  you 
take  me  for  a  fool,  telling  me  that  you  are  going  away? 
'  I  am  going  to  start  to-night ! '  "  she  said,  mimicking  his 
tones.  "  Stuff  and  nonsense !  Would  you  talk  like  that  if 
you  were  really  going  away  from  your  Naqui  ?  You  would 
cry,  like  the  booby  that  you  are ! " 

"  After  all,  if  I  go,  will  you  follow  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Tell  me  first  whether  this  journey  of  yours  is  a  bad 
joke  or  not." 

"  Yes,  seriously,  I  am  going." 

"  Well,  then,  seriously,  I  shall  stay.  A  pleasant  journey 
to  you,  my  boy !  I  will  wait  till  you  come  back.  I  would 
sooner  take  leave  of  life  than  take  leave  of  my  dear,  cozy 
Paris  " 

"  Will  you  not  come  to  Italy,  to  Naples,  and  lead  a 
pleasant  life  there — a  delicious,  luxurious  life,  with  this 
stout  old  fogey  of  yours,  who  puffs  and  blows  like  a  seal  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Ungrateful  girl!" 

151 


French  Mystery  Stories 

Ungrateful  ?  she  cried,  rising  to  her  feet.  I  might 
leave  this  house  this  moment  and  take  nothing  out  of  it 
but  myself.  I  shall  have  given  you  all  the  treasures  a  young 
girl  can  give,  and  something  that  not  every  drop  in  your 
veins  and  mine  can  ever  give  me  back.  If,  by  any  means 
w^hatever,  by  selling  my  hopes  of  eternity,  for  instance,  I 
could  recover  my  past  self,  body  as  soul  (for  I  have,  per- 
haps, redeemed  my  soul),  and  be  pure  as  a  lily  for  my  lover, 
I  would  not  hesitate  a  moment !  What  sort  of  devotion  has 
rewarded  mine  ?  You  have  housed  and  fed  me,  just  as  you 
give  a  dog  food  and  a  kennel  because  he  is  a  protection 
to  the  house,  and  he  may  take  kicks  when  we  are  out  of 
humor,  and  lick  our  hands  as  soon  as  we  are  pleased  to 
call  to  him.  And  which  of  us  two  will  have  been  the  more 
generous  ? 

"Oh!  dear  child,  do  you  not  see  that  I  am  joking?" 
returned  Castanier.  ''I  am  going  on  a  short  journey;  I 
shall  not  be  away  for  very  long.  But  come  with  me  to  the 
Gymnase;  I  shall  start  just  before  midnight,  after  I  have 
had  time  to  say  good-by  to  you.'' 

"  Poor  pet !  so  you  are  really  going,  are  you  ?  "  she  said. 
She  put  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  drew  down  his  head 
against  her  bodice. 

You  are  smothering  me ! "  cried  Castanier,  with  his 
face  buried  in  Aquilina's  breast.  That  damsel  turned  to 
say  in  Jenny's  ear,  "  Go  to  Leon,  and  tell  him  not  to  come 
till  one  o'clock.  If  you  do  not  find  him,  and  he  comes  here 
during  the  leave-taking,  keep  him  in  your  room. — Well," 
she  went  on,  setting  free  Castanier,  and  giving  a  tweak  to 
the  tip  of  his  nose,  "  never  mind,  handsomest  of  seals  that 
you  are.  I  will  go  to  the  theater  with  you  this  evening. 
But  all  in  good  time ;  let  us  have  dinner !  There  is  a  nice 
httle  dinner  for  you — just  what  you  like." 

It  is  very  hard  to  part  from  such  a  woman  as  you ! " 
exclaimed  Castanier. 

"  Very  well  then,  why  do  you  go  ?  "  asked  she. 

"Ah!  why?  why?  If  I  were  to  begin  to  explain  the 
reasons  why,  I  must  tell  you  things  that  would  prove  to 

152 


Honore  de  Balzac 


you  that  I  love  you  almost  to  madness.  Ah!  if  you  have 
sacrificed  your  honor  for  me,  I  have  sold  mine  for  you ;  we 
are  quits.    Is  that  love  ?  " 

What  is  all  this  about  ?  "  said  she.  "  Come,  now,  prom- 
ise me  that  if  I  had  a  lover  you  would  still  love  me  as  a 
father ;  that  would  be  love !  Come,  now,  promise  it  at  once, 
and  give  us  your  fist  upon  it." 

I  should  kill  you/'  and  Castanier  smiled  as  he  spoke. 
They  sat  down  to  the  dinner  table,  and  went  thence  to 
the  Gymnase.  When  the  first  part  of  the  performance  was 
over,  it  occurred  to  Castanier  to  show  himself  to  some  of 
his  acquaintances  in  the  house,  so  as  to  turn  away  any 
suspicion  of  his  departure.  He  left  Mme.  de  la  Garde  in 
the  corner  box  where  she  was  seated,  according  to  her 
modest  wont,  and  went  to  walk  up  and  down  in  the  lobby. 
He  had  not  gone  many  paces  before  he  saw  the  English- 
man, and  with  a  sudden  return  of  the  sickening  sensation 
of  heat  that  once  before  had  vibrated  through  him,  and 
of  the  terror  that  he  had  felt  already,  he  stood  face  to  face 
with  Melmoth. 
"  Forger!" 

At  the  word,  Castanier  glanced  round  at  the  people  who 
were  moving  about  them.  He  fancied  that  he  could  see 
astonishment  and  curiosity  in  their  eyes,  and  wishing  to  be 
rid  of  this  Englishman  at  once,  he  raised  his  hand  to  strike 
him — and  felt  his  arm  paralyzed  by  some  invisible  power 
that  sapped  his  strength  and  nailed  him  to  the  spot.  He 
allowed  the  stranger  to  take  him  by  the  arm,  and  they 
walked  together  to  the  greenroom  like  two  friends. 

Who  is  strong  enough  to  resist  me  ?  "  said  the  English- 
man, addressing  him.  Do  you  not  know  that  everything 
here  on  earth  must  obey  me,  that  it  is  in  my  power  to  do 
everything?  I  read  men's  thoughts,  I  see  the  future,  and 
I  know  the  past.  I  am  here,  and  I  can  be  elsewhere  also. 
Time  and  space  and  distance  are  nothing  to  me.  The  whole 
world  is  at  my  beck  and  call.  I  have  the  power  of  con- 
tinual enjoyment  and  of  giving  joy.  I  can  see  through 
walls,  discover  hidden  treasures,  and  fill  my  hands  with 

153 


French  Mystery  Stories 

them.  Palaces  arise  at  my  nod,  and  my  architect  makes 
no  mistakes.  I  can  make  all  lands  break  forth  into  blos- 
som, heap  up  their  gold  and  precious  stones,  and  surround 
myself  with  fair  women  and  ever  new  faces ;  everything  is 
yielded  up  to  my  will.  I  could  gamble  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change, and  my  speculations  would  be  infallible;  but  a 
man  who  can  find  the  hoards  that  misers  have  hidden  in 
the  earth  need  not  trouble  himself  about  stocks.  Feel  the 
strength  of  the  hand  that  grasps  you ;  poor  wretch,  doomed 
to  shame !  Try  to  bend  the  arm  of  iron !  try  to  soften  the 
adamantine  heart !  Fly  from  me  if  you  dare !  You  would 
hear  my  voice  in  the  depths  of  the  caves  that  lie  under  the 
Seine ;  you  might  hide  in  the  Catacombs,  but  would  you 
not  see  me  there?  My  voice  could  be  heard  through  the 
sound  of  the  thunder,  my  eyes  shine  as  brightly  as  the  sun, 
for  I  am  the  peer  of  Lucifer !  " 

Castanier  heard  the  terrible  words,  and  felt  no  protest 
nor  contradiction  within  himself.  He  walked  side  by  side 
with  the  Englishman,  and  had  no  power  to  leave  him. 

"  You  are  mine ;  you  have  just  committed  a  crime.  I 
have  found  at  last  the  mate  whom  I  have  sought.  Have 
you  a  mind  to  learn  your  destiny?  Aha!  you  came  here 
to  see  a  play,  and  you  shall  see  a  play — nay,  two.  Come. 
Present  me  to  Mme.  de  la  Garde  as  one  of  your  best 
friends.   Am  I  not  your  last  hope  of  escape  ?  " 

Castanier,  followed  by  the  stranger,  returned  to  his  box ; 
and  in  accordance  with  the  order  he  had  just  received,  he 
hastened  to  introduce  Melmoth  to  Mme.  de  la  Garde.  Aqui- 
lina  seemed  to  be  not  in  the  least  surprised.  The  English- 
man declined  to  take  a  seat  in  front,  and  Castanier  was  once 
more  beside  his  mistress ;  the  man's  slightest  wish  must  be 
obeyed.  The  last  piece  was  about  to  begin,  for,  at  that 
time,  small  theaters  only  gave  three  pieces.  One  of  the 
actors  had  made  the  Gymnase  the  fashion,  and  that  evening 
Perlet  (the  actor  in  question)  was  to  play  in  a  vaudeville 
called  Le  Comedien  d'Etampes,  in  which  he  filled  four  dif- 
ferent parts. 

When  the  curtain  rose,  the  stranger  stretched  out  his 

154 


Honore  de  Bahac 

hand  over  the  crowded  house.  Castanier's  cry  of  terror 
died  away,  for  the  walls  of  his  throat  seemed  glued  to- 
gether as  Melmoth  pointed  to  the  stage,  and  the  cashier 
knew  that  the  play  had  been  changed  at  the  Englishman's 
desire. 

He  saw  the  strong  room  at  the  bank ;  he  saw  the  Baron 
de  Nucingen  in  conference  with  a  police  officer  from  the 
prefecture,  who  was  informing  him  of  Castanier's  conduct, 
explaining  that  the  cashier  had  absconded  with  money 
taken  from  the  safe,  giving  the  history  of  the  forged  signa- 
ture. The  information  was  put  in  writing;  the  document 
signed  and  duly  dispatched  to  the  public  prosecutor. 
Are  we  in  time,  do  you  think?"  asked  Nucingen. 
Yes,"  said  the  agent  of  police ;  "  he  is  at  the  Gymnase, 
and  has  no  suspicion  of  anything." 

Castanier  fidgeted  on  his  chair,  and  made  as  if  he  would 
leave  the  theater,  but  Melmoth's  hand  lay  on  his  shoulder, 
and  he  was  obliged  to  sit  and  watch;  the  hideous  power 
of  the  man  produced  an  effect  like  that  of  nightmare,  and 
he  could  not  move  a  limb.  Nay,  the  man  himself  was  the 
nightmare;  his  presence  weighed  heavily  on  his  victim  like 
a  poisoned  atmosphere.  When  the  wretched  cashier  turned 
to  implore  the  Englishman's  mercy,  he  met  those  blaz- 
ing eyes  that  discharged  electric  currents,  which  pierced 
through  him  and  transfixed  him  like  darts  of  steel. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  you  ?  "  he  said,  in  his  prostrate 
helplessness,  and  he  breathed  hard  like  a  stag  at  the  wa- 
ter's edge.   "  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 
Look !  "  cried  Melmoth. 

Castanier  looked  at  the  stage.  The  scene  had  been 
changed.  The  play  seemed  to  be  over,  and  Castanier  be- 
held himself  stepping  from  the  carriage  with  Aquilina ;  but 
as  he  entered  the  courtyard  of  the  house  in  the  Rue  Richer, 
the  scene  again  was  suddenly  changed,  and  he  saw  his 
own  house.  Jenny  was  chatting  by  the  fire  in  her  mis- 
tress's room  with  a  subaltern  officer  of  a  line  regiment  then 
stationed  at  Paris. 

"  He  is  going,  is  he  ?  "  said  the  sergeant,  who  seemed  to 

155 


French  Mystery  Stories 

belong  to  a  family  in  easy  circumstances ;  I  can  be  happy 
at  my  ease!  I  love  Aquilina  too  well  to  allow  her  to  be- 
long to  that  old  toad !  I,  myself,  am  going  to  marry  Mme. 
de  la  Garde !  "  cried  the  sergeant 

"  Old  toad ! Castanier  murmured  piteously. 
Here  come  the  master  and  mistress ;  hide  yourself ! 
Stay,  get  in  here.  Monsieur  Leon,''  said  Jenny.  The 
master  won't  stay  here  for  very  long." 

Castanier  watched  the  sergeant  hide  himself  among  Aqui- 
lina's  gowns  in  her  dressing  room.  Almost  immediately 
he  himself  appeared  upon  the  scene,  and  took  leave  of  his 
mistress,  who  made  fun  of  him  in  asides  "  to  Jenny,  while 
she  uttered  the  sweetest  and  tenderest  words  in  his  ears. 
She  wept  with  one  side  of  her  face,  and  laughed  with  the 
other.   The  audience  called  for  an  encore. 

Accursed  creature !  "  cried  Castanier  from  his  box. 

Aquilina  was  laughing  till  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 
Goodness !  "  she  cried,     how  funny  Perlet  is  as  the 
Englishwoman !  .  .  .  Why  don't  you  laugh  ?  Everyone 
else  in  the  house  is  laughing.    Laugh,  dear !  "  she  said  to 
Castanier. 

Melmoth  burst  out  laughing,  and  the  unhappy  cashier 
shuddered.  The  Englishman's  laughter  wrung  his  heart 
and  tortured  his  brain ;  it  was  as  if  a  surgeon  had  bored 
his  skull  with  a  red-hot  iron. 

"  Laughing!  are  they  laughing?"  stammered  Castanier. 

He  did  not  see  the  prim  English  lady  whom  Perlet  was 
acting  with  such  ludicrous  effect,  nor  hear  the  English- 
French  that  had  filled  the  house  with  roars  of  laughter; 
instead  of  all  this,  he  beheld  himself  hurrying  from  the  Rue 
Richer,  hailing  a  cab  on  the  Boulevard,  bargaining  with 
the  man  to  take  him  to  Versailles.  Then  once  more  the 
scene  changed.  He  recognized  the  sorry  inn  at  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  de  I'Orangerie  and  the  Rue  des  Recollets,  which 
was  kept  by  his  old  quartermaster.  It  was  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  the  most  perfect  stillness  prevailed,  no  one 
was  there  to  watch  his  movements.  The  post-horses  were 
put  into  the  carriage  (it  came  from  a  house  in  the  Avenue 

156 


Honore  de  Balzac 


de  Paris  in  which  an  Englishman  lived,  and  had  been  or- 
dered in  the  foreigner's  name  to  avoid  raising  suspicion). 
Castanier  saw  that  he  had  his  bills  and  his  passports, 
stepped  into  the  carriage,  and  set  out.  But  at  the  barrier 
he  saw  two  gendarmes  lying  in  wait  for  the  carriage.  A 
cry  of  horror  burst  from  him,  but  Melmoth  gave  him  a 
glance,  and  again  the  sound  died  in  his  throat. 

Keep  your  eyes  on  the  stage,  and  be  quiet !  "  said  the 
Englishman. 

In  another  moment  Castanier  saw  himself  flung  into 
prison  at  the  Conciergerie ;  and  in  the  fifth  act  of  the  drama, 
entitled  The  Cashier,  he  saw  himself,  in  three  months'  time, 
condemned  to  twenty  years  of  penal  servitude.  Again  a 
cry  broke  from  him.  He  was  exposed  upon  the  Place  du 
Palais-de-Justice,  and  the  executioner  branded  him  with  a 
red-hot  iron.  Then  came  the  last  scene  of  all ;  among  some 
sixty  convicts  in  the  prison  yard  of  the  Bicetre,  he  was 
awaiting  his  turn  to  have  the  irons  riveted  on  his  limbs. 

"  Dear  me !  I  cannot  laugh  any  more !  •  .  said  Aqui- 
lina.  You  are  very  solemn,  dear  boy ;  what  can  be  the 
matter?   The  gentleman  has  gone." 

A  word  with  you,  Castanier,"  said  Melmoth  when  the 
piece  was  at  an  end,  and  the  attendant  was  fastening  Mme. 
de  la  Garde's  cloak. 

The  corridor  was  crowded,  and  escape  impossible. 
Very  well,  what  is  it?" 

No  human  power  can  hinder  you  from  taking  Aquilina 
home,  and  going  next  to  Versailles,  there  to  be  arrested." 
"  How  so?" 

Because  you  are  in  a  hand  that  will  never  relax  its 
grasp,"  returned  the  Englishman. 

Castanier  longed  for  the  power  to  utter  some  word  that 
should  blot  him  out  from  among  living  men  and  hide  him 
in  the  lowest  depths  of  hell. 

Suppose  that  the  devil  were  to  make  a  bid  for  your 
soul,  would  you  not  give  it  to  him  now  in  exchange  for 
the  power  of  God?  One  single  word,  and  those  five  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  shall  be  back  in  the  Baron  de  Nu- 

157 


French  Mystery  Stories 

cingen's  safe;  then  you  can  tear  up  your  letter  of  credit, 
and  all  traces  of  your  crime  will  be  obliterated.  Moreover, 
you  would  have  gold  in  torrents.  You  hardly  believe  in 
anything  perhaps?  Well,  if  all  this  comes  to  pass,  you 
will  believe  at  least  in  the  devil." 

If  it  were  only  possible !  "  said  Castanier  joyfully. 

"  The  man  who  can  do  it  all  gives  you  his  word  that  it 
is  possible,"  answered  the  Englishman. 

Melmoth,  Castanier,  and  Mme.  de  la  Garde  were  stand- 
ing out  in  the  Boulevard  when  Melmoth  raised  his  arm.  A 
drizzling  rain  was  falling,  the  streets  were  muddy,  the  air 
was  close,  there  was  thick  darkness  overhead;  but  in  a 
moment,  as  the  arm  was  outstretched,  Paris  was  filled  with 
sunlight ;  it  was  high  noon  on  a  bright  July  day.  The  trees 
were  covered  with  leaves;  a  double  stream  of  joyous 
holiday  makers  strolled  beneath  them.  Sellers  of  licorice 
water  shouted  their  cool  drinks.  Splendid  carriages  rolled 
past  along  the  streets.  A  cry  of  terror  broke  from  the 
cashier,  and  at  that  cry  rain  and  darkness  once  more  set- 
tled down  upon  the  Boulevard. 

Mme.  de  la  Garde  had  stepped  into  the  carriage.  "  Do 
be  quick,  dear ! "  she  cried ;  either  come  in  or  stay  out. 
Really,  you  are  as  dull  as  ditch-water  this  evening  " 

"  What  must  I  do  ?  "  Castanier  asked  of  Melmoth. 

"  Would  you  like  to  take  my  place  ?  "  inquired  the  Eng- 
lishman. 
Yes." 

"  Very  well,  then ;  I  will  be  at  your  house  in  a  few  mo- 
ments." 

"  By  the  bye,  Castanier,  you  are  rather  off  your  balance," 
Aquilina  remarked.  There  is  some  mischief  brewing ; 
you  were  quite  melancholy  and  thoughtful  all  through  the 
play.  Do  you  want  anything  that  I  can  give  you,  dear? 
Tell  me." 

"  I  am  waiting  till  we  are  at  home  to  know  whether  you 
love  me." 

"  You  need  not  wait  till  then,"  she  said,  throwing  her 
arms  round  his  neck.   "  There !  "  she  said,  as  she  embraced 

158 


Honore  de  Balzac 

him,  passionately  to  all  appearance,  and  plied  him  with  the 
coaxing  caresses  that  are  part  of  the  business  of  such  a 
life  as  hers,  like  stage  action  for  an  actress. 

"  Where  is  the  music  ?  "  asked  Castanier. 

"  What  next  ?   Only  think  of  your  hearing  music  now ! 

"  Heavenly  music ! he  went  on.  The  sounds  seem  to 
come  from  above.'^ 

"  What  ?  You  have  always  refused  to  give  me  a  box  at 
the  ItaHens  because  you  could  not  abide  music,  and  are 
you  turning  music-mad  at  this  time  of  day?  Mad — that 
you  are !  The  music  is  inside  your  own  noddle,  old  addle- 
pate  !  "  she  went  on,  as  she  took  his  head  in  her  hands  and 
rocked  it  to  and  fro  on  her  shoulder.  Tell  me  now,  old 
man ;  isn't  it  the  creaking  of  the  wheels  that  sings  in  your 
ears?" 

Just  listen,  Naqui !  If  the  angels  make  music  for  God 
Almighty,  it  must  be  such  music  as  this  that  I  am  drinking 
in  at  every  pore,  rather  than  hearing.  I  do  not  know  how 
to  tell  you  about  it ;  it  is  as  sweet  as  honey  water !  " 

Why,  of  course,  they  have  music  in  heaven,  for  the 
angels  in  all  the  pictures  have  harps  in  their  hands.  He 
is  mad,  upon  my  word !  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  saw 
Castanier's  attitude ;  he  looked  like  an  opium  eater  in  a 
blissful  trance. 

They  reached  the  house.  Castanier,  absorbed  by  the 
thought  of  all  that  he  had  just  heard  and  seen,  knew  not 
whether  to  believe  it  or  no ;  he  was  like  a  drunken  man,  and 
utterly  unable  to  think  connectedly.  He  came  to  himself 
in  Aquilina's  room,  whither  he  had  been  supported  by  the 
united  efforts  of  his  mistress,  the  porter,  and  Jenny ;  for  he 
had  fainted  as  he  stepped  from  the  carriage. 

"  He  will  be  here  directly !   Oh,  my  friends,  my  friends  ! 
he  cried,  and  he  flung  himself  despairingly  into  the  depths 
of  a  low  chair  beside  the  fire. 

Jenny  heard  the  bell  as  he  spoke,  and  admitted  the  Eng- 
lishman. She  announced  that a  gentleman  had  come  who 
had  made  an  appointment  with  the  master,''  when  Melmoth 
suddenly  appeared,  and  deep  silence  followed.    He  looked 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

at  the  porter — the  porter  went;  he  looked  at  Jenny — and 
Jenny  went  likewise. 

Madame,"  said  Melmoth,  turning  to  Aquilina,  *^  with 
your  permission,  we  will  conclude  a  piece  of  urgent  busi- 
ness." 

He  took  Castanier's  hand,  and  Castanier  rose,  and  the 
two  men  went  into  the  drawing-room.  There  was  no  light 
in  the  room,  but  Melmoth's  eyes  lit  up  the  thickest  dark- 
ness. The  gaze  of  those  strange  eyes  had  left  Aquilina 
like  one  spellbound;  she  was  helpless,  unable  to  take  any 
thought  for  her  lover ;  moreover,  she  believed  him  to  be 
safe  in  Jenny's  room,  whereas  their  early  return  had  taken 
the  waiting  woman  by  surprise,  and  she  had  hidden  the 
officer  in  the  dressing  room.  It  had  all  happened  ex- 
actly as  in  the  drama  that  Melmoth  had  displayed  for  his 
victim.  Presently  the  house  door  was  slammed  violently, 
and  Castanier  reappeared. 

What  ails  you  ?  "  cried  the  horror-struck  Aquilina. 

There  was  a  change  in  the  cashier's  appearance.  A 
strange  pallor  overspread  his  once  rubicund  countenance ; 
it  wore  the  peculiarly  sinister  and  stony  look  of  the  mys- 
terious visitor.  The  sullen  glare  of  his  eyes  was  intoler- 
able, the  fierce  light  in  them  seemed  to  scorch.  The  man 
who  had  looked  so  good-humored  and  good-natured  had 
suddenly  grown  tyrannical  and  proud.  The  courtesan 
thought  that  Castanier  had  grown  thinner ;  there  was  a  ter- 
rible majesty  in  his  brow;  it  was  as  if  a  dragon  breathed 
forth  a  malignant  influence  that  weighed  upon  the  others 
like  a  close,  heavy  atmosphere.  For  a  moment  Aquilina 
knew  not  what  to  do. 

"  What  passed  between  you  and  that  diabolical-looking 
man  in  those  few  minutes  ?  "  she  asked  at  length. 

"  I  have  sold  my  soul  to  him.  I  feel  it ;  I  am  no  longer 
the  same.  He  has  taken  my  self,  and  given  me  his  soul 
in  exchange." 

"  What?" 

"  You  would  not  understand  it  at  all.  .  .  .  Ah !  he  was 
right,"  Castanier  went  on,  "  the  fiend  was  right !    I  see 

i6o 


Horn  re  de  Balzac 


everything  and  know  all  things. — You  have  been  deceiving 
me!" 

Aquilina  turned  cold  with  terror.  Castanier  lighted  a 
candle  and  went  into  the  dressing  room.  The  unhappy  girl 
followed  him  in  dazed  bewilderment,  and  great  was  her 
astonishment  when  Castanier  drew  the  dresses  that  hung 
there  aside  and  disclosed  the  sergeant. 

"  Come  out,  my  boy,'"  said  the  cashier ;  and,  taking  Leon 
by  a  button  of  his  overcoat,  he  drew  the  officer  into  his 
room. 

The  Piedmontese,  haggard  and  desperate,  had  flung  her- 
self into  her  easy  chair.  Castanier  seated  himself  on  a  sofa 
by  the  fire,  and  left  Aquilina's  lover  in  a  standing  position. 

You  have  been  in  the  army/'  said  Leon ;  I  am  ready 
to  give  you  satisfaction.'* 

"  You  are  a  fool,"  said  Castanier  dryly.  "  I  have  no  oc- 
casion to  fight.  I  could  kill  you  by  a  look  if  I  had  any 
mind  to  do  it.  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,  youngster;  why 
should  I  kill  you  ?  I  can  see  a  red  Hne  round  your  neck 
— the  guillotine  is  waiting  for  you.  Yes,  you  will  end  in 
the  Place  de  Greve.  You  are  the  headsman's  property! 
there  is  no  escape  for  you.  You  belong  to  a  vendita  of  the 
Carbonari.    You  are  plotting  against  the  Government." 

You  did  not  tell  me  that,"  cried  the  Piedmontese,  turn- 
ing to  Leon. 

"  So  you  do  not  know  that  the  Minister  decided  this 
morning  to  put  down  your  Society  ?  "  the  cashier  continued. 
'*The  Procureur-General  has  a  list  of  your  names.  You 
have  been  betrayed.  They  are  busy  drawing  up  the  indict- 
ment at  this  moment." 

"  Then  was  it  you  who  betrayed  him  ?  "  cried  Aquilina, 
and  with  a  hoarse  sound  in  her  throat  like  the  growl  of  a 
tigress  she  rose  to  her  feet ;  she  seemed  as  if  she  would  tear 
Castanier  in  pieces. 

"  You  know  me  too  well  to  believe  it,"  Castanier  re- 
torted.  Aquilina  was  benumbed  by  his  coolness. 

"  Then  how  did  you  know  it  ?  "  she  murmured. 

"  I  did  not  know  it  until  I  went  into  the  drawing-room ; 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

now  I  know  it — now  I  see  and  know  all  things,  and  can  do 
all  things." 

The  sergeant  was  overcome  with  amazement. 

Very  well  then,  save  him,  save  him,  dear ! cried  the 
girl,  flinging  herself  at  Castanier's  feet.  "  If  nothing  is  im- 
possible to  you,  save  him!  I  will  love  you,  I  will  adore 
you,  I  will  be  your  slave  and  not  your  mistress.  I  will 
obey  your  wildest  whims;  you  shall  do  as  you  will  with 
me.  Yes,  yes,  I  will  give  you  more  than  love ;  you  shall 
have  a  daughter's  devotion  as  well  as  .  .  .  Rodolphe !  why 
will  you  not  understand !  After  all,  however  violent  my 
passions  may  be,  I  shall  be  yours  forever!  What  should 
I  say  to  persuade  you  ?  I  will  invent  pleasures  .  .  .  I  .  .  . 
Great  heavens !  one  moment !  whatever  you  shall  ask  of  me 
• — to  fling  myself  from  the  window,  for  instance — you  will 
need  to  say  but  one  word,  *  Leon ! '  and  I  will  plunge 
down  into  hell.  I  would  bear  any  torture,  any  pain  of  body 
or  soul,  anything  you  might  inflict  upon  me ! 

Castanier  heard  her  with  indifference.  For  all  answer, 
he  indicated  Leon  to  her  with  a  fiendish  laugh. 

The  guillotine  is  waiting  for  him,"  he  repeated. 

No,  no,  no !   He  shall  not  leave  this  house.   I  will  save 
him ! "  she  cried.    "  Yes ;  I  will  kill  anyone  who  lays  a 
finger  upon  him !   Why  will  you  not  save  him  ? "  she 
shrieked  aloud;  her  eyes  were  blazing,  her  hair  unbound. 
Can  you  save  him  ?  " 

I  can  do  everything." 

Why  do  you  not  save  him?  " 
"  Why  ?  "  shouted  Castanier,  and  his  voice  made  the  ceil- 
ing ring. — Eh !  it  is  my  revenge !    Doing  evil  is  my 
trade ! " 

''Die?"  said  Aquilina;  "must  he  die,  my  lover?  Is  it 
possible?  " 

She  sprang  up  and  snatched  a  stiletto  from  a  basket  that 
stood  on  the  chest  of  drawers  and  went  to  Castanier,  who 
began  to  laugh. 

You  know  very  well  that  steel  cannot  hurt  me 
now  " 

162 


Homre  de  Balzac 


Aquilina's  arm  suddenly  dropped  like  a  snapped  harp 
string. 

Out  with  you,  my  good  friend/'  said  the  cashier,  turn- 
ing to  the  sergeant,    and  go  about  your  business." 

He  held  out  his  hand ;  the  other  felt  Castanier's  superior 
power,  and  could  not  choose  but  obey. 

This  house  is  mine ;  I  could  send  for  the  commissary 
of  police  if  I  chose,  and  give  you  up  as  a  man  who  has  hid- 
den himself  on  my  premises,  but  I  would  rather  let  you  go ; 
I  am  a  fiend,  I  am  not  a  spy.'' 

I  shall  follow  him ! ''  said  Aquilina. 
"  Then    follow    him,"    returned    Castanier.  — "  Here, 

Jenny  " 

Jenny  appeared. 
Tell  the  porter  to  hail  a  cab  for  them. — Here,  Naqui,'' 
said  Castanier,  drawing  a  bundle  of  banknotes  from  his 
pocket ;  "  you  shall  not  go  away  like  a  pauper  from  a  man 
who  loves  you  still." 

He  held  out  three  hundred  thousand  francs.  Aquilina 
took  the  notes,  flung  them  on  the  floor,  spat  on  them,  and 
trampled  upon  them  in  a  frenzy  of  despair. 

We  will  leave  this  house  on  foot,"  she  cried,  "  without 
a  farthing  of  your  money. — Jenny,  stay  where  you  are." 

Good  evening ! "  answered  the  cashier,  as  he  gathered 
up  the  notes  again.  I  have  come  back  from  my  journey. 
— ^Jenny,"  he  added,  looking  at  the  bewildered  waiting  maid, 
you  seem  to  me  to  be  a  good  sort  of  girl.  You  have  no 
mistress  now.  Come  here.  This  evening  you  shall  have 
a  master." 

Aquilina,  who  felt  safe  nowhere,  went  at  once  with  the 
sergeant  to  the  house  of  one  of  her  friends.  But  all  Leon's 
movements  were  suspiciously  watched  by  the  police,  and 
after  a  time  he  and  three  of  his  friends  were  arrested.  The 
whole  story  may  be  found  in  the  newspapers  of  that  day. 

Castanier  felt  that  he  had  undergone  a  mental  as  well  as 
a  physical  transformation.  The  Castanier  of  old  no  longer 
existed — the  boy,  the  young  Lothario,  the  soldier  who  had 

163 


French  Mystery  Stories 

proved  his  courage,  who  had  been  tricked  into  a  marriage 
^nd  disillusioned,  the  cashier,  the  passionate  lover  who  had 
committed  a  crime  for  Aquilina's  sake.  His  inmost  nature 
had  suddenly  asserted  itself.  His  brain  had  expanded,  his 
senses  had  developed.  His  thoughts  comprehended  the 
whole  world;  he  saw  all  the  things  of  earth  as  if  he  had 
been  raised  to  some  high  pinnacle  above  the  world. 

Until  that  evening  at  the  play  he  had  loved  Aquilina  to 
distraction.  Rather  than  give  her  up  he  would  have  shut 
his  eyes  to  her  infidelities ;  and  now  all  that  blind  passion 
liad  passed  away  as  a  cloud  vanishes  in  the  sunlight. 

Jenny  was  delighted  to  succeed  to  her  mistress's  position 
and  fortune,  and  did  the  cashier's  will  in  all  things;  but 
Castanier,  who  could  read  the  inmost  thoughts  of  the  soul, 
discovered  the  real  motive  underlying  this  purely  physical 
devotion.  He  amused  himself  with  her,  however,  like  a 
mischievous  child  who  greedily  sucks  the  juice  of  the  cherry 
and  flings  away  the  stone.  The  next  morning  at  breakfast 
time,  when  she  was  fully  convinced  that  she  was  a  lady  and 
the  mistress  of  the  house,  Castanier  uttered  one  by  one  the 
thoughts  that  filled  her  mind  as  she  drank  her  coffee. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  thinking,  child?''  he  said, 
smiling.  "  I  will  tell  you  :  '  So  all  that  lovely  rosewood  fur- 
niture that  I  coveted  so  much,  and  the  pretty  dresses  that 
I  used  to  try  on,  are  mine  now!  All  on  easy  terms  that 
madame  refused,  I  do  not  know  why.  My  word !  if  I  might 
drive  about  in  a  carriage,  have  jewels  and  pretty  things,  a 
box  at  the  theater,  and  put  something  by!  with  me  he 
should  lead  a  life  of  pleasure  fit  to  kill  him  if  he  were  not 
as  strong  as  a  Turk !  I  never  saw  such  a  man ! ' — Was  not 
that  just  what  you  were  thinking?  "  he  went  on,  and  some- 
thing in  his  voice  made  Jenny  turn  pale.  Well,  yes,  child ; 
you  could  not  stand  it,  and  I  am  sending  you  away  for 
your  own  good ;  you  would  perish  in  the  attempt.  Come, 
let  us  part  good  friends,"  and  he  coolly  dismissed  her  with 
a  very  small  sum  of  money. 

The  first  use  that  Castanier  had  promised  himself  that 
he  would  make  of  the  terrible  power  bought  at  the  price 

164 


Honore  de  Balzac 

of  his  eternal  happiness,  was  the  full  and  complete  indul- 
gence of  all  his  tastes. 

He  first  put  his  affairs  in  order,  readily  settled  his  ac- 
count with  M.  de  Nucingen,  who  found  a  worthy  German 
to  succeed  him,  and  then  determined  on  a  carouse  worthy 
of  the  palmiest  days  of  the  Roman  Empire.  He  plunged 
into  dissipation  as  recklessly  as  Belshazzar  of  old  went  to 
that  last  feast  in  Babylon.  Like  Belshazzar,  he  saw  clearly 
through  his  revels  a  gleaming  hand  that  traced  his  doom 
in  letters  of  flame,  not  on  the  narrow  walls  of  the  banquet- 
ing chamber,  but  over  the  vast  spaces  of  heaven  that  the 
rainbow  spans.  His  feast  was  not,  indeed,  an  orgy  confined 
within  the  limits  of  a  banquet,  for  he  squandered  all  the 
powers  of  soul  and  body  in  exhausting  all  the  pleasures  of 
earth.  The  table  was  in  some  sort  earth  itself,  the  earth 
that  trembled  beneath  his  feet.  He  was  the  last  festival  of 
the  reckless  spendthrift  who  has  thrown  all  prudence  to  the 
winds.  The  devil  had  given  him  the  key  of  the  storehouse 
of  human  pleasures;  he  had  filled  and  refilled  his  hands, 
and  he  was  fast  nearing  the  bottom.  In  a  moment  he  had 
felt  all  that  that  enormous  power  could  accomplish ;  in  a 
moment  he  had  exercised  it,  proved  it,  wearied  of  it.  What 
had  hitherto  been  the  sum  of  human  desires  became  as 
nothing.  So  often  it  happens  that  with  possession  the  vast 
poetry  of  desire  must  end,  and  the  thing  possessed  is  seldom 
the  thing  that  we  dreamed  of. 

Beneath  Melmoth's  omnipotence  lurked  this  tragical  anti- 
climax of  so  many  a  passion,  and  now  the  inanity  of  human 
nature  was  revealed  to  his  successor,  to  whom  infinite  power 
brought  Nothingness  as  a  dowry. 

To  come  to  a  clear  understanding  of  Castanier's  strange 
position,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  how  suddenly  these 
revolutions  of  thought  and  feeling  had  been  wrought ;  how 
quickly  they  had  succeeded  each  other ;  and  of  these  things 
it  is  hard  to  give  any  idea  to  those  who  have  never  broken 
the  prison  bonds  of  time,  and  space,  and  distance.  His  re- 
lation to  the  world  without  had  been  entirely  changed  with 
the  expansion  of  his  faculties. 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

Like  Melmoth  himself,  Castanier  could  travel  in  a  few 
moments  over  the  fertile  plains  of  India,  could  soar  on  the 
wings  of  demons  above  African  desert  spaces,  or  skim  the 
surface  of  the  seas.  The  same  insight  that  could  read  the 
inmost  thoughts  of  others,  could  apprehend  at  a  glance 
the  nature  of  any  material  object,  just  as  he  caught  as  it 
were  all  flavors  at  once  upon  his  tongue.  He  took  his 
pleasure  like  a  despot ;  a  blow  of  the  ax  felled  the  tree  that 
he  might  eat  its  fruits.  The  transitions,  the  alternations 
that  measure  joy  and  pain,  and  diversify  human  happiness, 
no  longer  existed  for  him.  He  had  so  completely  glutted 
his  appetites  that  pleasure  must  overpass  the  limits  of  pleas- 
ure to  tickle  a  palate  cloyed  with  satiety,  and  suddenly 
grown  fastidious  beyond  all  measure,  so  that  ordinary 
pleasures  became  distasteful.  Conscious  that  at  will  he  was 
the  master  of  all  the  women  that  he  could  desire,  knowing 
that  his  power  was  irresistible,  he  did  not  care  to  exercise 
it  ;  they  were  pliant  to  his  unexpressed  wishes,  to  his  most 
extravagant  caprices,  until  he  felt  a  horrible  thirst  for  love, 
and  would  have  love  beyond  their  power  to  give. 

The  world  refused  him  nothing  save  faith  and  prayer, 
the  soothing  and  consoling  love  that  is  not  of  this  world. 
He  was  obeyed — it  was  a  horrible  position. 

The  torrents  of  pain,  and  pleasure,  and  thought  that 
shook  his  soul  and  his  bodily  frame  would  have  over- 
whelmed the  strongest  human  being ;  but  in  him  there  was 
a  power  of  vitality  proportioned  to  the  power  of  the  sen- 
sations that  assailed  him.  He  felt  within  him  a  vague  im- 
mensity of  longing  that  earth  could  not  satisfy.  He  spent 
his  days  on  outspread  wings,  longing  to  traverse  the  lu- 
minous fields  of  space  to  other  spheres  that  he  knew  afar 
by  intuitive  perception,  a  clear  and  hopeless  knowledge. 
His  soul  dried  up  within  him,  for  he  hungered  and  thirsted 
after  things  that  can  neither  be  drunk  nor  eaten,  but  for 
which  he  could  not  choose  but  crave.  His  lips,  like  Mel- 
moth's,  burned  with  desire ;  he  panted  for  the  unknown,  for 
he  knew  all  things. 

The  mechanism  and  the  scheme  of  the  world  was  ap- 

1 66 


Honore  de  Balzac 


parent  to  him,  and  its  working  interested  him  no  longer; 
he  did  not  long  disguise  the  profound  scorn  that  makes  of 
a  man  of  extraordinary  powers  a  sphinx  who  knows  every- 
thing and  says  nothing,  and  sees  all  things  with  an  unmoved 
countenance.  He  felt  not  the  slightest  wish  to  communi- 
cate his  knowledge  to  other  men.  He  was  rich  with  all  the 
wealth  of  the  world,  with  one  efifort  he  could  make  the 
circle  of  the  globe,  and  riches  and  power  were  meaningless 
for  him.  He  felt  the  awful  melancholy  of  omnipotence,  a 
melancholy  which  Satan  and  God  relieve  by  the  exercise 
of  infinite  power  in  mysterious  ways  known  to  them  alone. 
Castanier  had  not,  like  his  Master,  the  inextinguishable 
energy  of  hate  and  malice ;  he  felt  that  he  was  a  devil,  but 
a  devil  whose  time  was  not  yet  come,  while  Satan  is  a 
devil  through  all  eternity,  and  being  damned  beyond  re- 
demption, dehghts  to  stir  up  the  world,  like  a  dungheap, 
with  his  triple  fork  and  to  thwart  therein  the  designs  of 
God.   But  Castanier,  for  his  misfortune,  had  one  hope  left. 

If  in  a  moment  he  could  move  from  one  pole  to  the 
other  as  a  bird  springs  restlessly  from  side  to  side  in  its 
cage,  when,  like  the  bird,  he  had  crossed  his  prison,  he  saw 
the  vast  immensity  of  space  beyond  it.  That  vision  of  the 
Infinite  left  him  forever  unable  to  see  humanity  and  its 
afifairs  as  other  men  saw  them.  The  insensate  fools  who 
long  for  the  power  of  the  Devil  gauge  its  desirability  from 
a  human  standpoint ;  they  do  not  see  that  with  the  Devil's 
power  they  will  likewise  assume  his  thoughts,  and  that  they 
will  be  doomed  to  remain  as  men  among  creatures  who  will 
no  longer  understand  them.  The  Nero  unknown  to  history 
who  dreams  of  setting  Paris  on  fire  for  his  private  enter- 
tainment, like  an  exhibition  of  a  burning  house  on  the 
boards  of  a  theater,  does  not  suspect  that  if  he  had  that 
power,  Paris  would  become  for  him  as  little  interesting  as 
an  ant  heap  by  the  roadside  to  a  hurrying  passer-by.  The 
circle  of  the  sciences  was  for  Castanier  something  like  a 
logogriph  for  a  man  who  does  not  know  the  key  to  it. 
Kings  and  Governments  were  despicable  in  his  eyes.  His 
great  debauch  had  been  in  some  sort  a  deplorable  farewell 

167 


French  Mystery  Stories 

to  his  life  as  a  man.  The  earth  had  grown  too  narrow  for 
him,  for  the  infernal  gifts  laid  bare  for  him  the  secrets  of 
creation — he  saw  the  cause  and  foresaw  its  end.  He  was 
shut  out  from  all  that  men  call  heaven  "  in  all  languages 
under  the  sun ;  he  could  no  longer  think  of  heaven. 

Then  he  came  to  understand  the  look  on  his  predecessor's 
face  and  the  drying  up  of  the  life  within ;  then  he  knew  all 
that  was  meant  by  the  baffled  hope  that  gleamed  in  Mel- 
moth's  eyes;  he,  too,  knew  the  thirst  that  burned  those 
red  lips,  and  the  agony  of  a  continual  struggle  between  two 
natures  grown  to  giant  size.  Even  yet  he  might  be  an 
angel,  and  he  knew  himself  to  be  a  fiend.  His  was  the  fate 
of  a  sweet  and  gentle  creature  that  a  wizard's  malice  has 
imprisoned  in  a  misshapen  form,  entrapping  it  by  a  pact, 
so  that  another's  will  must  set  it  free  from  its  detested  en- 
velope. 

As  a  deception  only  increases  the  ardor  with  which  a 
man  of  really  great  nature  explores  the  infinite  of  senti- 
ment in  a  woman's  heart,  so  Castanier  awoke  to  find  that 
one  idea  lay  like  a  v/eight  upon  his  soul,  an  idea  which 
was  perhaps  the  key  to  loftier  spheres.  The  very  fact  that 
he  had  bartered  away  his  eternal  happiness  led  him  to  dwell 
in  thought  upon  the  future  of  those  who  pray  and  believe. 
On  the  morrow  of  his  debauch,  when  he  entered  into  the 
sober  possession  of  his  power,  this  idea  made  him  feel  him- 
self a  prisoner ;  he  knew  the  burden  of  the  woe  that  poets, 
and  prophets,  and  great  oracles  of  faith  have  set  forth  for 
us  in  such  mighty  words ;  he  felt  the  point  of  the  Flaming 
Sword  plunged  into  his  side,  and  hurried  in  search  of  Mel- 
moth.    What  had  become  of  his  predecessor? 

The  Englishman  was  living  in  a  mansion  in  the  Rue 
Ferou,  near  Saint-Sulpice — a  gloomy,  dark,  damp,  and  cold 
abode.  The  Rue  Ferou  itself  is  one  of  the  most  dismal 
streets  in  Paris;  it  has  a  north  aspect  like  all  the  streets 
that  lie  at  right  angles  to  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine,  and 
the  houses  are  in  keeping  with  the  site.  As  Castanier  stood 
on  the  threshold  he  found  that  the  door  itself,  like  the 
vaulted  roof,  was  hung  with  black ;  rows  of  lighted  tapers 

i68 


Honore  de  Balzac 


shone  brilliantly  as  though  some  king  were  lying  in  state ; 
and  a  priest  stood  on  either  side  of  a  catafalque  that  had 
been  raised  there. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  ask  why  you  have  come,  sir/'  the 
old  hall  porter  said  to  Castanier;  you  are  so  like  our  poor 
dear  master  that  is  gone.  But  if  you  are  his  brother,  you 
have  come  too  late  to  bid  him  good-by.  The  good  gentle- 
man died  the  night  before  last." 

How  did  he  die  ?  "  Castanier  asked  of  one  of  the  priests. 

"  Set  your  mind  at  rest,"  said  an  old  priest ;  he  partly 
raised  as  he  spoke  the  black  pall  that  covered  the  catafalque. 

Castanier,  looking  at  him,  saw  one  of  those  faces  that 
faith  has  made  sublime ;  the  soul  seemed  to  shine  forth 
from  every  line  of  it,  bringing  light  and  warmth  for  other 
men,  kindled  by  the  unfailing  charity  within.  This  was  Sir 
John  Melmoth's  confessor. 

Your  brother  made  an  end  that  men  may  envy,  and 
that  must  rejoice  the  angels.  Do  you  know  what  joy  there 
is  in  heaven  over  a  sinner  that  repents  ?  His  tears  of  peni- 
tence, excited  by  grace,  flowed  without  ceasing ;  death  alone 
checked  them.  The  Holy  Spirit  dwelt  in  him.  His  burn- 
ing words,  full  of  lively  faith,  were  worthy  of  the  Prophet- 
King.  If,  in  the  course  of  my  life,  I  have  never  heard  a 
more  dreadful  confession  than  from  the  lips  of  this  Irish 
gentleman,  I  have  likewise  never  heard  such  fervent  and 
passionate  prayers.  However  great  the  measures  of  his  sins 
may  have  been,  his  repentance  has  filled  the  abyss  to  over- 
flowing. The  hand  of  God  was  visibly  stretched  out  above 
him,  for  he  was  completely  changed,  there  was  such 
heavenly  beauty  in  his  face.  The  hard  eyes  were  softened 
by  tears;  the  resonant  voice  that  struck  terror  into  those 
who  heard  it  took  the  tender  and  compassionate  tones  of 
those  who  themselves  have  passed  through  deep  humilia- 
tion. He  so  edified  those  who  heard  his  words  that  some 
who  had  felt  drawn  to  see  the  spectacle  of  a  Christian's 
death  fell  on  their  knees  as  he  spoke  of  heavenly  things, 
and  of  the  infinite  glory  of  God,  and  gave  thanks  and  praise 
to  Him.    If  he  is  leaving  no  worldly  wealth  to  his  family, 

169 


French  Mystery  Stories 

no  family  can  possess  a  greater  blessing  than  this  that  he 
surely  gained  for  them,  a  soul  among  the  blessed,  who  will 
watch  over  you  all  and  direct  you  in  the  path  to  heaven." 

These  words  made  such  a  vivid  impression  upon  Cas- 
tanier  that  he  instantly  hurried  from  the  house  to  the 
Church  of  Saint-Sulpice,  obeying  what  might  be  called  a 
decree  of  fate.   Melmoth's  repentance  had  stupefied  him. 

At  that  time,  on  certain  mornings  in  the  week,  a  preacher, 
famed  for  his  eloquence,  was  wont  to  hold  conferences,  in 
the  course  of  which  he  demonstrated  the  truths  of  the  Cath- 
olic faith  for  the  youth  of  a  generation  proclaimed  to  be 
indifferent  in  matters  of  belief  by  another  voice  no  less  elo- 
quent than  his  own.  The  conference  had  been  put  off  to 
a  later  hour  on  account  of  Melmoth's  funeral,  so  Castanier 
arrived  just  as  the  great  preacher  was  epitomizing  the 
proofs  of  a  future  existence  of  happiness  with  all  the  charm 
of  eloquence  and  force  of  expression  which  have  made  him 
famous.  The  seeds  of  divine  doctrine  fell  into  a  soil  pre- 
pared for  them  in  the  old  dragoon,  into  whom  the  Devil 
had  glided.  Indeed,  if  there  is  a  phenomenon  well  attested 
by  experience,  is  it  not  the  spiritual  phenomenon  commonly 
called  the  faith  of  the  peasant ?  The  strength  of  belief 
varies  inversely  with  the  amount  of  use  that  a  man  has 
made  of  his  reasoning  faculties.  Simple  people  and  soldiers 
belong  to  the  unreasoning  class.  Those  who  have  marched 
through  life  beneath  the  banner  of  instinct  are  far  more 
ready  to  receive  the  light  than  minds  and  hearts  overwearied 
with  the  world's  sophistries. 

Castanier  had  the  southern  temperament ;  he  had  joined 
the  army  as  a  lad  of  sixteen,  and  had  followed  the  French 
flag  till  he  was  nearly  forty  years  old.  As  a  common 
trooper,  be  had  fought  day  and  night,  and  day  after  day, 
and,  as  in  duty  bound,  had  thought  of  his  horse  first,  and 
of  himself  afterwards.  While  he  served  his  military  ap- 
prenticeship, therefore,  he  had  but  little  leisure  in  which 
to  reflect  on  the  destiny  of  man,  and  when  he  became  an 
officer  he  had  his  men  to  think  of.  He  had  been  swept 
from  battlefield  to  battlefield,  but  he  had  never  thoug:ht  of 

170 


Honore  de  Balzac 


what  comes  after  death.  A  soldier's  life  does  not  demand! 
much  thinking.  Those  who  cannot  understand  the  lofty 
political  ends  involved  and  the  interests  of  nation  and  na- 
tion; who  cannot  grasp  political  schemes  as  well  as  plans 
of  campaign  and  combine  the  science  of  the  tactician  with 
that  of  the  administrator,  are  bound  to  live  in  a  state  of 
ignorance ;  the  most  boorish  peasant  in  the  most  backward 
district  in  France  is  scarcely  in  a  worse  case.  Such  men 
as  these  bear  the  brunt  of  war,  yield  passive  obedience  to 
the  brain  that  directs  them,  and  strike  down  the  men  op- 
posed to  them  as  the  woodcutter  fells  timber  in  the  forest. 
Violent  physical  exertion  is  succeeded  by  times  of  inertia, 
when  they  repair  the  waste.  They  fight  and  drink,  fight 
and  eat,  fight  and  sleep,  that  they  may  the  better  deal  hard 
blows;  the  powers  of  the  mind  are  not  greatly  exercised 
in  this  turbulent  round  of  existence,  and  the  character  is  as 
simple  as  heretofore. 

When  the  men  who  have  shown  such  energy  on  the  bat- 
tlefield return  to  ordinary  civilization,  most  of  those  who 
have  not  risen  to  high  rank  seem  to  have  acquired  no  ideas, 
and  to  have  no  aptitude,  no  capacity,  for  grasping  new 
ideas.  To  the  utter  amazement  of  a  younger  generation, 
those  who  made  our  armies  so  glorious  and  so  terrible  are 
as  simple  as  children,  and  as  slow-witted  as  a  clerk  at  his 
worst,  and  the  captain  of  a  thundering  squadron  is  scarcely 
fit  to  keep  a  merchant's  day-book.  Old  soldiers  of  this 
stamp,  therefore,  being  innocent  of  any  attempt  to  use  their 
reasoning  faculties,  act  upon  their  strongest  impulses.  Cas- 
tanier's  crime  was  one  of  those  matters  that  raise  so  many 
questions,  that,  in  order  to  debate  about  it,  a  moralist  might 
call  for  its  discussion  by  clauses,"  to  make  use  of  a  par- 
liamentary expression. 

Passion  had  counseled  the  crime ;  the  cruelly  irresistible 
power  of  feminine  witchery  had  driven  him  to  commit  it ; 
no  man  can  say  of  himself,  "  I  will  never  do  that,"  when 
a  siren  joins  in  the  combat  and  throws  her  spells  over  him. 

So  the  word  of  life  fell  upon  a  conscience  newly  awak- 
ened to  the  truths  of  religion  which  the  French  Revolution 

171 


French  Mystery  Stories 

and  a  soldier's  career  had  forced  Castanier  to  neglect.  The 
solemn  words,  You  will  be  happy  or  miserable  for  all 
eternity ! "  made  but  the  more  terrible  impression  upon 
him,  because  he  had  exhausted  earth  and  shaken  it  like  a 
barren  tree ;  because  his  desires  could  effect  all  things,  so 
that  it  was  enough  that  any  spot  in  earth  or  heaven  should 
be  forbidden  him,  and  he  forthwith  thought  of  nothing  else. 
If  it  were  allowable  to  compare  such  great  things  with  so- 
cial follies,  Castanier's  position  was  not  unlike  that  of  a 
banker  who,  finding  that  his  all-powerful  millions  cannot 
obtain  for  him  an  entrance  into  the  society  of  the  noblesse, 
must  set  his  heart  upon  entering  that  circle,  and  all  the 
social  privileges  that  he  has  already  acquired  are  as  nothing 
in  his  eyes  from  the  moment  when  he  discovers  that  a  single 
one  is  lacking. 

Here  was  a  man  more  powerful  than  all  the  kings  on 
earth  put  together;  a  man  who,  like  Satan,  could  wrestle 
with  God  Himself ;  leaning  against  one  of  the  pillars  in  the 
Church  of  Saint-Sulpice,  weighed  down  by  the  feelings  and 
thoughts  that  oppressed  him,  and  absorbed  in  the  thought 
of  a  Future,  the  same  thought  that  had  engulfed  Melmoth. 

"  He  was  very  happy,  was  Melmoth !  "  cried  Castanier. 
He  died  in  the  certain  knowledge  that  he  would  go  to 
heaven.'' 

In  a  moment  the  greatest  possible  change  had  been 
wrought  in  the  cashier's  ideas.  For  several  days  he  had 
been  a  devil,  now  he  was  nothing  but  a  man;  an  image  of 
the  fallen  Adam,  of  the  sacred  tradition  embodied  in  all 
cosmogonies.  But  while  he  had  thus  shrunk  to  manhood, 
he  retained  a  germ  of  greatness,  he  had  been  steeped  in  the 
Infinite.  The  power  of  hell  had  revealed  the  divine  power. 
He  thirsted  for  heaven  as  he  had  never  thirsted  after  the 
pleasures  of  earth,  that  are  so  soon  exhausted.  The  enjoy- 
ments which  the  fiend  promises  are  but  the  enjoyments  of 
earth  on  a  larger  scale,  but  to  the  joys  of  heaven  there  is 
no  limit.  He  believed  in  God,  and  the  spell  that  gave  him 
the  treasures  of  the  world  was  as  nothing  to  him  now ;  the 
treasures  themselves  seemed  to  him  as  contemptible  as  peb- 

172 


Honore  de  Balzac 


bles  to  an  admirer  of  diamonds;  they  were  but  gewgaws 
compared  with  the  eternal  glories  of  the  other  Hfe.  A  curse 
lay,  he  thought,  on  all  things  that  came  to  him  from  this 
source.  He  sounded  dark  depths  of  painful  thought  as  he 
listened  to  the  service  performed  for  Melmoth.  The  Dies 
irce  filled  him  with  awe ;  he  felt  all  the  grandeur  of  that  cry 
of  a  repentant  soul  trembling  before  the  Throne  of  God. 
The  Holy  Spirit,  like  a  devouring  flame,  passed  through 
him  as  fire  consumes  straw. 

The  tears  were  falling  from  his  eyes  when — "  Are  you  a 
relation  of  the  dead  ? the  beadle  asked  him. 
I  am  his  heir,"  Castanier  answered. 

"  Give  something  for  the  expenses  of  the  services !  "  cried 
the  man. 

No,"  said  the  cashier.    (The  DeviFs  money  should  not 
go  to  the  Church.) 
For  the  poor!" 
"  No." 

For  repairing  the  Church !  " 
"  No." 

"  The  Lady  Chapel!" 
"  No." 

"  For  the  schools !  " 
"  No." 

Castanier  went,  not  caring  to  expose  himself  to  the  sour 
looks  that  the  irritated  functionaries  gave  him. 

Outside,  in  the  street,  he  looked  up  at  the  Church  of 
Saint-Sulpice.  "  What  made  people  build  the  giant  cathe- 
drals I  have  seen  in  every  country?"  he  asked  himself. 

The  feeling  shared  so  widely  throughout  all  time  must 
surely  be  based  upon  something." 

''Something!  Do  you  call  God  something? cried  his 
conscience.   *'  God !  God !  God !  .  .  ." 

The  word  was  echoed  and  reechoed  by  an  inner  voice, 
till  it  overwhelmed  him;  but  his  feeling  of  terror  subsided 
as  he  heard  sweet  distant  sounds  of  music  that  he  had 
caught  faintly  before.  They  were  singing  in  the  church, 
he  thought,  and  his  eyes  scanned  the  great  doorway.  But 

173 


French  Mystery  Stories 

as  he  listened  more  closely,  the  sounds  poured  upon  him 
from  all  sides ;  he  looked  round  the  square,  but  there  was 
no  sign  of  any  musicians.  The  melody  brought  visions  of 
a  distant  heaven  and  far-off  gleams  of  hope;  but  it  also 
quickened  the  remorse  that  had  set  the  lost  soul  in  a  fer- 
ment. He  v^ent  on  his  way  through  Paris,  walking  as  men 
walk  who  are  crushed  beneath  the  burden  of  their  sorrow, 
seeing  everything  with  unseeing  eyes,  loitering  like  an  idler, 
stopping  without  cause,  muttering  to  himself,  careless  of 
the  traffic,  making  no  effort  to  avoid  a  blow  from  a  plank 
of  timber. 

Imperceptibly  repentance  brought  him  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  divine  grace  that  soothes  while  it  bruises  the 
heart  so  terribly.  His  face  came  to  wear  a  look  of  Mel- 
moth,  something  great,  with  a  trace  of  madness  in  the 
greatness.  A  look  of  dull  and  hopeless  distress,  mingled 
with  the  excited  eagerness  of  hope,  and,  beneath  it  all,  a 
gnawing  sense  of  loathing  for  all  that  the  world  can  give. 
The  humblest  of  prayers  lurked  in  the  eyes  that  saw  with 
such  dreadful  clearness.  His  power  was  the  measure  of 
his  anguish.  His  body  was  bowed  down  by  the  fearful 
storm  that  shook  his  soul,  as  the  tall  pines  bend  before  the 
blast.  Like  his  predecessor,  he  could  not  refuse  to  bear 
the  burden  of  life;  he  was  afraid  to  die  while  he  bore  the 
yoke  of  hell.   The  torment  grew  intolerable. 

At  last,  one  morning,  he  bethought  himself  how  that 
Melmoth  (now  among  the  blessed)  had  made  the  proposal 
of  an  exchange,  and  how  that  he  had  accepted  it ;  others, 
doubtless,  would  follow  his  example;  for  in  an  age  pro- 
claimed, by  the  inheritors  of  the  eloquence  of  the  Fathers 
of  the  Church,  to  be  fatally  indifferent  to  religion,  it  should 
be  easy  to  find  a  man  who  would  accept  the  conditions  of 
the  contract  in  order  to  prove  its  advantages. 

There  is  one  place  where  you  can  learn  what  kings  will 
fetch  in  the  market ;  where  nations  are  weighed  in  the  bal- 
ance and  systems  appraised ;  where  the  value  of  a  govern- 
ment is  stated  in  terms  of  the  five-franc  piece ;  where  ideas 
and  beliefs  have  their  price,  and  everything  is  discounted ; 

174 


Honore  de  Balzac 


where  God  Himself,  in  a  manner,  borrows  on  the  security 
of  His  revenue  of  souls,  for  the  Pope  has  a  running  account 
there.   Is  it  not  there  that  I  should  go  to  traffic  in  souls?'' 

Castanier  went  quite  joyously  on  'Change,  thinking  that 
it  would  be  as  easy  to  buy  a  soul  as  to  invest  money  in 
the  Funds.  Any  ordinary  person  would  have  feared  ridi- 
cule, but  Castanier  knew  by  experience  that  a  desperate 
man  takes  everything  seriously.  A  prisoner  lying  under 
sentence  of  death  would  listen  to  the  madman  who  should 
tell  him  that  by  pronouncing  some  gibberish  he  could 
escape  through  the  keyhole ;  for  suffering  is  credulous,  and 
clings  to  an  idea  until  it  fails,  as  the  swimmer  borne  along 
by  the  current  clings  to  the  branch  that  snaps  in  his  hand. 

Toward  four  o'clock  that  afternoon  Castanier  appeared 
among  the  little  knots  of  men  who  were  transacting  private 
business  after  'Change.  He  was  personally  known  to  some 
of  the  brokers;  and  while  affecting  to  be  in  search  of  an 
acquaintance,  he  managed  to  pick  up  the  current  gossip 
and  rumors  of  failure. 

"  Catch  me  negotiating  bills  for  Claparon  &  Co.,  my  boy. 
The  bank  collector  went  round  to  return  their  acceptances 
to  them  this  morning,"  said  a  fat  banker  in  his  outspoken 
way.      If  you  have  any  of  their  paper,  look  out." 

Claparon  was  in  the  building,  in  deep  consultation  with 
a  man  well  known  for  the  ruinous  rate  at  which  he  lent 
money.  Castanier  went  forthwith  in  search  of  the  said 
Qaparon,  a  merchant  who  had  a  reputation  for  taking 
heavy  risks  that  meant  wealth  or  utter  ruin.  The  money 
lender  walked  away  as  Castanier  came  up.  A  gesture  be- 
trayed the  speculator's  despair. 

Well,  Claparon,  the  bank  wants  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  of  you,  and  it  is  four  o'clock;  the  thing  is  known, 
and  it  is  too  late  to  arrange  your  little  failure  comfortably," 
said  Castanier. 
Sir!" 

"  Speak  lower,"  the  cashier  went  on.  "  How  if  I  were 
to  propose  a  piece  of  business  that  would  bring  you  in  as 
much  money  as  you  require  ?  "  ' 

175 


French  Mystery  Stories 

"  It  would  not  discharge  my  liabilities ;  every  business 
that  I  ever  heard  of  wants  a  little  time  to  simmer  in." 

"  I  know  of  something  that  will  set  you  straight  in  a 
moment,"  answered  Castanier;  "but  first  you  would  have 


"  Do  what?" 

"  Sell  your  share  of  Paradise.  It  is  a  matter  of  business 
like  anything  else,  isn't  it  ?  We  all  hold  shares  in  the  great 
Speculation  of  Eternity." 

"  I  tell  you  this,"  said  Claparon  angrily,  "  that  I  am  just 
the  man  to  lend  you  a  slap  in  the  face.  When  a  man  is  in 
trouble,  it  is  no  time  to  play  silly  jokes  on  him." 

I  am  talking  seriously,"  said  Castanier,  and  he  drew  a 
bundle  of  notes  from  his  pocket. 

In  the  first  place,"  said  Claparon,  "  I  am  not  going  to 
sell  my  soul  to  the  Devil  for  a  trifle.   I  want  five  hundred 

thousand  francs  before  I  strike  " 

Who  talks  of  stinting  you  ?  "  asked  Castanier,  cutting 
him  short.  You  should  have  more  gold  than  you  could 
stow  in  the  cellars  of  the  Bank  of  France." 

He  held  out  a  handful  of  notes.  That  decided  Claparon. 

"  Done,"  he  cried ;    but  how  is  the  bargain  to  be  made  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go  over  yonder,  no  one  is  standing  there,"  said 
Castanier,  pointing  to  a  corner  of  the  court. 

Claparon  and  his  tempter  exchanged  a  few  words,  with 
their  faces  turned  to  the  wall.  None  of  the  onlookers 
guessed  the  nature  of  this  by-play,  though  their  curiosity 
was  keenly  excited  by  the  strange  gestures  of  the  two  con- 
tracting parties.  When  Castanier  returned,  there  was  a 
sudden  outburst  of  amazed  exclamation.  As  in  the  As- 
sembly w^here  the  least  event  immediately  attracts  attention, 
all  faces  were  turned  to  the  two  men  who  had  caused  the 
sensation,  and  a  shiver  passed  through  all  beholders  at  the 
change  that  had  taken  place  in  them. 

The  men  who  form  the  moving  crowd  that  fills  the  Stock 
Exchange  are  soon  known  to  each  other  by  sight.  They 
watch  each  other  like  players  round  a  card  table.  Some 
shrewd  observers  can  tell  how  a  man  will  play  and  the  con- 

176 


Honore  de  Balzac 


dition  of  his  exchequer  from  a  survey  of  his  face ;  and  the 
Stock  Exchange  is  simply  a  vast  card  table.  Everyone, 
therefore,  had  noticed  Claparon  and  Castanier.  The  latter 
(like  the  Irishman  before  him  ^)  had  been  muscular  and 
powerful,  his  eyes  were  full  of  light,  his  color  high.  The 
dignity  and  power  in  his  face  had  struck  awe  into  them  all ; 
they  wondered  how  old  Castanier  had  come  by  it ;  and  now 
they  beheld  Castanier  divested  of  his  power,  shrunken, 
wrinkled,  aged,  and  feeble.  He  had  drawn  Claparon  out 
of  the  crowd  with  the  energy  of  a  sick  man  in  a  fever  fit; 
he  had  looked  Hke  an  opium  eater  during  the  brief  period 
of  excitement  that  the  drug  can  give;  now,  on  his  return, 
he  seemed  to  be  in  the  condition  of  utter  exhaustion  in 
which  the  patient  dies  after  the  fever  departs,  or  to  be  suf~ 
fering  from  the  horrible  prostration  that  follows  on  ex- 
cessive indulgence  in  the  delights  of  narcotics.  The  infernal 
power  that  had  upheld  him  through  his  debauches  had  left 
him,  and  the  body  was  left  unaided  and  alone  to  endure 
the  agony  of  remorse  and  the  heavy  burden  of  sincere  re- 
pentance. Claparon's  troubles  everyone  could  guess;  but 
Claparon  reappeared,  on  the  other  hand,  with  sparkling 
eyes,  holding  his  head  high  with  the  pride  of  Lucifer.  The 
crisis  had  passed  from  the  one  man  to  the  other. 

"  Now  you  can  drop  off  with  an  easy  mind,  old  man,'* 
said  Claparon  to  Castanier. 

"For  pity's  sake,  send  for  a  cab  and  for  a  priest;  send 
for  the  curate  of  Saint-Sulpice  !  "  answered  the  old  dragoon, 
sinking  down  upon  the  curbstone. 

The  words  a  priest "  reached  the  ears  of  several  people, 
and  produced  uproarious  jeering  among  the  stockbrokers, 
for  faith  with  these  gentlemen  means  a  belief  that  a  scrap 
of  paper  called  a  mortgage  represents  an  estate,  and  the 
List  of  Fundholders  is  their  Bible. 

Shall  I  have  time  to  repent?"  said  Castanier  to  him- 
self, in  a  piteous  voice,  that  impressed  Claparon. 

A  cab  carried  away  the  dying  man ;  the  speculator  went 

1  Referring  to  John  Melmoth — see  note  at  head  of  this  story. 

— Editor. 

177 


French  Mystery  Stories 

to  the  bank  at  once  to  meet  his  bills;  and  the  momentary 
sensation  produced  upon  the  throng  of  business  men  by 
the  sudden  change  on  the  two  faces,  vanished  like  the  fur- 
row cut  by  a  ship's  keel  in  the  sea.  News  of  the  greatest 
importance  kept  the  attention  of  the  world  of  commerce 
on  the  alert;  and  when  commercial  interests  are  at  stake, 
Moses  might  appear  with  his  two  luminous  horns,  and  his 
coming  would  scarcely  receive  the  honors  of  a  pun;  the 
gentlemen  whose  business  it  is  to  write  the  Market  Re- 
ports would  ignore  his  existence. 

When  Claparon  had  made  his  payments,  fear  seized  upon 
him.  There  was  no  mistake  about  his  power.  He  went 
on  'Change  again,  and  offered  his  bargain  to  other  men  in 
embarrassed  circumstances.  The  Devil's  bond,  together 
with  the  rights,  easements,  and  privileges  appertaining 
thereunto," — to  use  the  expression  of  the  notary  who  suc- 
ceeded Claparon,  changed  hands  for  the  sum  of  seven  hun- 
dred thousand  francs.  The  notary  in  his  turn  parted  with 
the  agreement  with  the  Devil  for  five  hundred  thousand 
francs  to  a  building  contractor  in  difficulties,  who  likewise 
was  rid  of  it  to  an  iron  merchant  in  consideration  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand  crowns.  In  fact,  by  five  o'clock  people  had 
ceased  to  believe  in  the  strange  contract,  and  purchasers 
were  lacking  for  want  of  confidence. 

At  half-past  five  the  holder  of  the  bond  was  a  house 
painter,  who  was  lounging  by  the  door  of  the  building 
in  the  Rue  Feydeau,  where  at  that  time  stockbrokers 
temporarily  congregated.  The  house  painter,  simple  fel- 
low, could  not  think  what  was  the  matter  with  him.  He 

felt  all  anyhow " ;  so  he  told  his  wife  when  he  went 
home. 

The  Rue  Feydeau,  as  idlers  about  town  are  aware,  is  a 
place  of  pilgrimage  for  youths  who  for  lack  of  a  mistress 
bestow  their  ardent  affection  upon  the  whole  sex.  On  the 
first  floor  of  the  most  rigidly  respectable  domicile  therein 
dwelt  one  of  those  exquisite  creatures  whom  it  has  pleased 
heaven  to  endow  with  the  rarest  and  most  surpassing 
beauty.  As  it  is  impossible  that  they  should  all  be  duchesses 

178 


Honore  de  Balzac 


or  queens  (since  there  are  many  more  pretty  women  in  the 
world  than  titles  and  thrones  for  them  to  adorn),  they  are 
content  to  make  a  stockbroker  or  a  banker  happy  at  a  fixed 
price.  To  this  good-natured  beauty,  Euphrasia  by  name^ 
an  unbounded  ambition  had  led  a  notary's  clerk  to  aspire. 
In  short,  the  second  clerk  in  the  office  of  Maitre  Crottat^ 
notary,  had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  as  youth  at  two  and 
twenty  can  fall  in  love.  The  scrivener  would  have  mur- 
dered the  Pope  and  run  amuck  through  the  whole  sacred 
college  to  procure  the  miserable  sum  of  a  hundred  louis 
to  pay  for  a  shawl  which  had  turned  Euphrasia's  head,  at 
which  price  her  waiting  woman  had  promised  that  Eu- 
phrasia should  be  his.  The  infatuated  youth  walked  to  and 
fro  under  Madame  Euphrasia's  windows,  like  the  polar 
bears  in  their  cage  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  with  his  right 
hand  thrust  beneath  his  w^aistcoat  in  the  region  of  the  heart, 
which  he  was  fit  to  tear  from  his  bosom,  but  as  yet  he  had 
only  wrenched  at  the  elastic  of  his  braces. 

What  can  one  do  to  raise  ten  thousand  francs?"  he 
asked  himself.  Shall  I  make  off  with  the  money  that  I 
must  pay  on  the  registration  of  that  conveyance?  Good 
heavens !  my  loan  would  not  ruin  the  purchaser,  a  man  with 
seven  millions!  And  then  next  day  I  would  fling  myself 
at  his  feet  and  say,  *  I  have  taken  ten  thousand  francs  be- 
longing to  you,  sir;  I  am  twenty-two  years  of  age,  and  I 
am  in  love  with  Euphrasia — that  is  my  story.  My  father 
is  rich,  he  will  pay  you  back ;  do  not  ruin  me !  Have  not 
you  yourself  been  twenty-two  years  old  and  madly  in 
love  ?  ^  But  these  beggarly  landowners  have  no  souls !  He 
would  be  quite  likely  to  give  me  up  to  the  public  prose- 
cutor, instead  of  taking  pity  upon  me.  Good  God!  if  it 
were  only  possible  to  sell  your  soul  to  the  Devil !  But  there 
is  neither  a  God  nor  a  Devil ;  it  is  all  nonsense  out  of  nursery 
tales  and  old  wives'  talk.   What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  If  you  have  a  mind  to  sell  your  soul  to  the  Devil, 
sir,''  said  the  house  painter,  who  had  overheard  something 
that  the  clerk  let  fall,  you  can  have  the  ten  thousand 
francs." 


179 


French  Mystery  Stories 

"  And  Euphrasia ! cried  the  clerk,  as  he  struck  a  bar- 
gain with  the  devil  that  inhabited  the  house  painter. 

The  pact  concluded,  the  frantic  clerk  went  to  find  the 
shawl,  and  mounted  Madame  Euphrasia's  staircase ;  and  as 
(literally)  the  devil  was  in  him,  he  did  not  come  down  for 
twelve  days,  drowning  the  thought  of  hell  and  of  his  priv- 
ileges in  twelve  days  of  love  and  riot  and  forgetfulness,  for 
w^hich  he  had  bartered  away  all  his  hopes  of  a  paradise  to 
come. 

And  in  this  way  the  secret  of  the  vast  power  discovered 
and  acquired  by  the  Irishman,  the  offspring  of  Maturin's 
brain,  was  lost  to  mankind;  and  the  various  Orientalists, 
Mystics,  and  Arch^ologists  who  take  an  interest  in  these 
matters  were  unable  to  hand  down  to  posterity  the  proper 
method  of  invoking  the  Devil,  for  the  following  sufficient 
reasons : — 

On  the  thirteenth  day  after  these  frenzied  nuptials  the 
wretched  clerk  lay  on  a  pallet  bed  in  a  garret  in  his  mas- 
ter's house  in  the  Rue  Saint-Honore.  Shame,  the  stupid 
goddess  who  dares  not  behold  herself,  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  the  young  man.  He  had  fallen  ill ;  he  would  nurse 
himself ;  misjudged  the  quantity  of  a  remedy  devised  by 
the  skill  of  a  practitioner  well  known  on  the  walls  of  Paris, 
and  succumbed  to  the  effects  of  an  overdose  of  mercury. 
His  corpse  was  as  black  as  a  mole's  back.  A  devil  had  left 
unmistakable  traces  of  its  passage  there ;  could  it  have  been 
Ashtaroth  ? 

The  estimable  youth  to  whom  you  refer  has  been  car- 
ried away  to  the  planet  Mercury,"  said  the  head  clerk  to  a 
German  demonologist  who  came  to  investigate  the  matter 
at  first  hand. 

I  am  quite  prepared  to  believe  it,"  answered  the  Teuton. 
Oh ! " 

Yes,  sir,"  returned  the  other.  "  The  opinion  you  ad- 
vance coincides  with  the  very  words  of  Jacob  Boehme.  In 
the  forty-eighth  proposition  of  The  Threefold  Life  of  Man 
he  says  that  '  if  God  hath  brought  all  things  to  pass  with 

i8o 


Howre  de  Balzac 


a  LET  THERE  BE,  the  FIAT  is  the  secret  matrix  which  com- 
prehends and  apprehends  the  nature  which  is  formed  by  the 
spirit  born  of  Mercury  and  of  God.' " 

"  What  do  you  say,  sir?  " 

The  German  deUvered  his  quotation  afresh. 

"  We  do  not  know  it,''  said  the  clerks. 

''Fiat?  .  .  ."  said  a  clerk.    ''Fiat  lux!'' 

"  You  can  verify  the  citation  for  yourselves,"  said  the 
German.  "  You  will  find  the  passage  in  the  Treatise  of 
the  Threefold  Life  of  Man,  page  75 ;  the  edition  was  pub- 
hshed  by  M.  Migneret  in  1809.  It  was  translated  into 
French  by  a  philosopher  who  had  a  great  admiration  for 
the  famous  shoemaker." 

"  Oh !  he  was  a  shoemaker,  was  he  ?  "  said  the  head  clerk. 

"  In  Prussia,"  said  the  German. 
Did  he  work  for  the  King  of  Prussia  ?  "  inquired  a  Boeo^ 
tian  of  a  second  clerk. 

"  He  must  have  vamped  up  his  prose,"  said  a  third. 

"  That  man  is  colossal !  "  cried  the  fourth,  pointing  to 
the  Teuton. 

That  gentleman,  though  a  demonologist  of  the  first  rank, 
did  not  know  the  amount  of  devilry  to  be  found  in  a  notary's 
clerk.  He  went  away  without  the  least  idea  that  they  were 
making  game  of  him,  and  fully  under  the  impression  that 
the  young  fellows  regarded  Boehme  as  a  colossal  genius. 

"  Education  is  making  strides  in  France,"  said  he  to  him- 
self. 

The  Conscript 

[The  inner  self]  .  .  .  by  a  phenomenon  of  vision  or  of  locomotion 
has  been  known  at  times  to  abolish  Space  in  its  two  modes  of  Time 
and  Distance — the  one  intellectual,  the  other  physical. 

— History  of  Louis  Lambert. 

On  a  November  evening  in  the  year  1793  the  princi-- 
pal  citizens  of  Carentan  were  assembled  in  Mme.  de  Dey's 
drawing-room.    Mme.  de  Dey  held  this  reception  every 

181 


French  Mystery  Stories 

night  of  the  week,  but  an  unwonted  interest  attached  to  this 
evening's  gathering,  owing  to  certain  circumstances  which 
would  have  passed  altogether  unnoticed  in  a  great  city, 
though  in  a  small  country  town  they  excited  the  greatest 
curiosity.  For  two  days  before  Mme.  de  Dey  had  not  been 
at  home  to  her  visitors,  and  on  the  previous  evening  her 
door  had  been  shut,  on  the  ground  of  indisposition.  Two 
such  events  at  any  ordinary  time  would  have  produced  in 
Carentan  the  same  sen,sation  that  Paris  knows  on  nights 
when  there  is  no  performance  at  the  theaters — existence  is 
in  some  sort  incomplete ;  but  in  those  times  when  the  least 
indiscretion  on  the  part  of  an  aristocrat  might  be  a  matter 
of  life  and  death,  this  conduct  of  Mme.  de  Dey's  was  likely 
to  bring  about  the  most  disastrous  consequences  for  her. 
Her  position  in  Carentan  ought  to  be  made  clear,  if  the 
reader  is  to  appreciate  the  expression  of  keen  curiosity  and 
cunning  fanaticism  on  the  countenances  of  these  Norman 
citizens,  and,  what  is  of  most  importance,  the  part  that  the 
lady  played  among  them.  Many  a  one  during  the  days  of 
the  Revolution  has  doubtless  passed  through  a  crisis  as 
difficult  as  hers  at  that  moment,  and  the  sympathies  of 
more  than  one  reader  will  fill  in  all  the  coloring  of  the 
picture. 

Mme.  de  Dey  was  the  widow  of  a  Lieutenant-General,  a 
Knight  of  the  Orders  of  Saint  Michael  and  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.  She  had  left  the  Court  when  the  Emigration  began, 
and  taken  refuge  in  the  neighborhood  of  Carentan,  where 
she  had  large  estates,  hoping  that  the  influence  of  the  Reign 
of  Terror  would  be  but  little  felt  there.  Her  calculations, 
based  on  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  district,  proved  cor- 
rect. The  Revolution  made  little  disturbance  in  Lower 
Normandy.  Formerly,  when  Mme.  de  Dey  had  spent -any 
time  in  the  country,  her  circle  of  acquaintance  had  been 
confined  to  the  noble  families  of  the  district ;  but  now,  from 
politic  motives,  she  opened  her  house  to  the  principal  citi- 
zens and  to  the  Revolutionary  authorities  of  the  town,  en- 
deavoring to  touch  and  gratify  their  social  pride  without 
arousing  either  hatred  or  jealousy.    Gracious  and  kindly, 

182 


Honore  de  Balzac 


possessed  of  the  indescribable  charm  that  wins  good  will 
without  loss  of  dignity  or  effort  to  pay  court  to  any,  she 
had  succeeded  in  gaining  universal  esteem;  the  discreet 
warnings  of  exquisite  tact  enabled  her  to  steer  a  difficult 
course  among  the  exacting  claims  of  this  mixed  society^ 
without  wounding  the  overweening  self-love  of  parvenus 
on  the  one  hand,  or  the  susceptibilities  of  her  old  friends  on 
the  other. 

She  was  about  thirty-eight  years  of  age,  and  still  pre^ 
served,  not  the  fresh,  high-colored  beauty  of  the  Basse- 
Normandes,  but  a  fragile  loveliness  of  what  may  be  called 
an  aristocratic  type.  Her  figure  was  lissome  and  slender^ 
her  features  delicate  and  clearly  cut;  the  pale  face  seemed 
to  light  up  and  live  w^hen  she  spoke ;  but  there  was  a  quiet 
and  devout  look  in  the  great  dark  eyes,  for  all  their  gra- 
ciousness  of  expression — a  look  that  seemed  to  say  that  the 
springs  of  her  life  lay  without  her  own  existence. 

In  her  early  girlhood  she  had  been  married  to  an  elderly 
and  jealous  soldier.  Her  false  position  in  the  midst  of  a 
gay  Court  had  doubtless  done  something  to  bring  a  veil  of 
sadness  over  a  face  that  must  once  have  been  bright  with 
the  charms  of  quick-pulsed  life  and  love.  She  had  been 
compelled  to  set  constant  restraint  upon  her  frank  impulses 
and  emotions  at  an  age  when  a  woman  feels  rather  than 
thinks,  and  the  depths  of  passion  in  her  heart  had  never 
been  stirred.  In  this  lay  the  secret  of  her  greatest  charm, 
a  youthfulness  of  the  inmost  soul,  betrayed  at  times  by  her 
face,  and  a  certain  tinge  of  innocent  wistfulness  in  her  ideas. 
She  was  reserved  in  her  demeanor,  but  in  her  bearing  and 
in  the  tones  of  her  voice  there  was  still  something  that  told 
of  girlish  longings  directed  toward  a  vague  future.  Before 
very  long  the  least  susceptible  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  yet 
stood  somewhat  in  awe  of  her  dignity  and  high-bred  man- 
ner. Her  great  soul,  strengthened  by  the  cruel  ordeals 
through  which  she  had  passed,  seemed  to  set  her  too  far 
above  the  ordinary  level,  and  these  men  weighed  them- 
selves, and  instinctively  felt  that  they  were  found  wanting. 
Such  a  nature  demanded  an  exalted  passion. 

183 


French  Mystery  Stories 

Moreover,  Mme.  de  Dey's  affections  were  concentrated 
in  one  sentiment — a  mother's  love  for  her  son.  All  the  hap- 
piness and  joy  that  she  had  not  known  as  a  wife,  she  had 
found  later  in  her  boundless  love  for  him.  The  coquetry 
of  a  mistress,  the  jealousy  of  a  wife  mingled  with  the  pure 
and  deep  affection  of  a  mother.  She  was  miserable  when 
they  were  apart,  and  nervous  about  him  while  he  was  away; 
she  could  never  see  enough  of  him,  and  lived  through  and 
for  him  alone.  Some  idea  of  the  strength  of  this  tie  may 
be  conveyed  to  the  masculine  understanding  by  adding  that 
this  was  not  only  Mme.  de  Dey's  only  son,  but  all  she  had 
of  kith  or  kin  in  the  world,  the  one  human  being  on  earth 
bound  to  her  by  all  the  fears  and  hopes  and  joys  of  her 
life. 

The  late  Comte  de  Dey  was  the  last  of  his  race,  and  she, 
his  wife,  was  the  sole  heiress  and  descendant  of  her  house. 
So  worldly  ambitions  and  family  considerations,  as  well  as 
the  noblest  cravings  of  the  soul,  combined  to  heighten  in 
the  Countess  a  sentiment  that  is  strong  in  every  woman's 
heart.  The  child  w^as  all  the  dearer,  because  only  with  in- 
finite care  had  she  succeeded  in  rearing  him  to  man's  estate  ; 
medical  science  had  predicted  his  death  a  score  of  times, 
but  she  had  held  fast  to  her  presentiments  and  her  hopes, 
and  had  known  the  inexpressible  joy  of  watching  him  pass 
safely  through  the  perils  of  infancy,  of  seeing  his  consti- 
tution strengthen  in  spite  of  the  decrees  of  the  Faculty. 

Thanks  to  her  constant  care,  the  boy  had  grown  up  and 
developed  so  favorably,  that  at  twenty  years  of  age  he  was 
regarded  as  one  of  the  most  accomplished  gentlemen  at 
the  Court  of  Versailles.  One  final  happiness  that  does  not 
always  crown  a  mother's  efforts  was  hers — her  son  wor- 
shiped her ;  and  between  these  two  there  was  the  deep  sym- 
pathy of  kindred  souls.  If  they  had  not  been  bound  to  each 
other  already  by  a  natural  and  sacred  tie,  they  would  in- 
stinctively have  felt  for  each  other  a  friendship  that  is  rarely 
met  with  between  two  men. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen,  the  young  Count  had  received  an 
appointment  as  sub-lieutenant  in  a  regiment  of  dragoons, 

184 


Honore  de  Balzac 


and  had  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to  follow  the  emigrant 
Princes  into  exile. 

Then  Mme.  de  Dey  faced  the  dangers  of  her  cruel  posi- 
tion. She  was  rich,  noble,  and  the  mother  of  an  Emigrant. 
With  the  one  desire  to  look  after  her  son's  great  fortune, 
she  had  denied  herself  the  happiness  of  being  with  him; 
and  when  she  read  the  rigorous  laws  in  virtue  of  which  the 
Republic  was  daily  confiscating  the  property  of  Emigrants 
at  Carentan,  she  congratulated  herself  on  the  courageous 
course  that  she  had  taken.  Was  she  not  keeping  watch 
over  the  wealth  of  her  son  at  the  risk  of  her  life  ?  Later, 
when  news  came  of  the  horrible  executions  ordered  by  the 
Convention,  she  slept,  happy  in  the  knowledge  that  her  own 
treasure  was  in  safety,  out  of  reach  of  peril,  far  from  the 
scaffolds  of  the  Revolution.  She  loved  to  think  that  she 
had  followed  the  best  course^  that  she  had  saved  her  darling 
and  her  darling's  fortunes ;  and  to  this  secret  thought  she 
made  such  concessions  as  the  misfortunes  of  the  times  de- 
manded, without  compromising  her  dignity  or  her  aristo- 
cratic tenets,  and  enveloped  her  sorrows  in  reserve  and  mys- 
tery. She  had  foreseen  the  difficulties  that  would  beset 
her  at  Carentan.  Did  she  not  tempt  the  scaffold  by  the 
very  fact  of  going  thither  to  take  a  prominent  place  ?  Yet, 
sustained  by  a  mother's  courage,  she  succeeded  in  winning 
the  affection  of  the  poor,  ministering  without  distinction  to 
everyone  in  trouble ;  and  made  herself  necessary  to  the  well- 
to-do,  by  providing  amusements  for  them. 

The  procureur  of  the  commune  might  be  seen  at  her 
house,  the  mayor,  the  president  of  the  "  district,"  and  the 
public  prosecutor,  and  even  the  judges  of  the  Revolution- 
ary tribunals  went  there.  The  four  first-named  gentlemen 
were  none  of  them  married,  and  each  paid  court  to  her,  in 
the  hope  that  Mme.  de  Dey  would  take  him  for  her  hus- 
band, either  from  fear  of  making  an  enemy  or  from  a  de- 
sire to  find  a  protector. 

The  public  prosecutor,  once  an  attorney  at  Caen,  and  the 
Countess's  man  of  business,  did  what  he  could  to  inspire 
love  by  a  system  of  devotion  and  generosity,  a  dangerous 

185 


French  Mystery  Stories 

game  of  cunning !  He  was  the  most  formidable  of  all  her 
suitors.  He  alone  knew  the  amount  of  the  large  fortune 
of  his  sometime  client,  and  his  fervor  was  inevitably  in- 
creased by  the  cupidity  of  greed,  and  by  the  consciousness 
that  he  wielded  an  enormous  power,  the  power  of  life  and 
death  in  the  district.  He  was  still  a  young  man,  and,  owing 
to  the  generosity  of  his  behavior,  Mme.  de  Dey  was  unable 
as  yet  to  estimate  him  truly.  But,  in  despite  of  the  danger 
of  matching  herself  against  Norman  cunning,  she  used  all 
the  craft  and  inventiveness  that  Nature  has  bestowed  on 
women  to  play  off  the  rival  suitors  one  against  another. 
She  hoped,  by  gaining  time,  to  emerge  safe  and  sound  from 
her  difficulties  at  last;  for  at  that  time  Royalists  in  the 
provinces  flattered  themselves  with  a  hope,  daily  renewed, 
that  the  morrow  would  see  the  end  of  the  Revolution — a 
conviction  that  proved  fatal  to  many  of  them. 

In  spite  of  difficulties,  the  Countess  had  maintained  her 
independence  with  considerable  skill  until  the  day  when, 
by  an  inexplicable  want  of  prudence,  she  took  occasion  to 
close  her  salon.  So  deep  and  sincere  was  the  interest  that 
she  inspired,  that  those  who  usually  filled  her  drawing- 
room  felt  a  lively  anxiety  when  the  news  was  spread ;  then^^ 
with  the  frank  curiosity  characteristic  of  provincial  man- 
ners, they  went  to  inquire  into  the  misfortune,  grief,  or  ill- 
ness that  had  befallen  Mme.  de  Dey. 

To  all  these  questions,  Brigitte,  the  housekeeper,  an- 
swered with  the  same  formula :  her  mistress  was  keeping 
her  room,  and  would  see  no  one,  not  even  her  own  servants. 
The  almost  claustral  lives  of  dwellers  in  small  towns  fosters 
a  habit  of  analysis  and  conjectural  explanation  of  the  busi- 
ness of  everybody  else ;  so  strong  is  it,  that  when  everyone 
had  exclaimed  over  poor  Mme.  de  Dey  (without  knowing 
whether  the  lady  was  overcome  by  joy  or  sorrow),  each 
one  began  to  inquire  into  the  causes  of  her  sudden  se- 
clusion. 

"  If  she  were  ill,  she  would  have  sent  for  the  doctor,'' 
said  gossip  number  one ;  now  the  doctor  has  been  play- 
ing chess  in  my  house  all  day.    He  said  to  me,  laughing, 

i86 


Honore  de  Balzac 

that  in  these  days  there  is  only  one  disease,  and  that,  un- 
luckily, it  is  incurable." 

The  joke  was  hazarded  discreetly.  Women  and  men, 
elderly  folk  and  young  girls,  forthwith  betook  themselves 
to  the  vast  fields  of  conjecture.  Everyone  imagined  that 
there  was  some  secret  in  it,  and  every  head  was  busy  with 
the  secret.  Next  day  the  suspicions  became  malignant. 
Everyone  lives  in  public  in  a  small  town,  and  the  women- 
kind  were  the  first  to  find  out  that  Brigitte  had  laid  in  an 
extra  stock  of  provisions.  The  thing  could  not  be  dis- 
puted. Brigitte  had  been  seen  in  the  market-place  betimes 
that  morning,  and,  wonderful  to  relate,  she  had  bought  the 
one  hare  to  be  had.  The  whole  town  knew  that  Mme.  de 
Dey  did  not  care  for  game.  The  hare  became  a  starting 
point  for  endless  conjectures. 

Elderly  gentlemen,  taking  their  constitutional,  noticed  a 
sort  of  suppressed  bustle  in  the  Countess's  house;  the 
symptoms  were  the  more  apparent  because  the  servants 
were  at  evident  pains  to  conceal  them.  The  man-servant 
was  beating  a  carpet  in  the  garden.  Only  yesterday  no  one 
would  have  remarked  the  fact,  but  to-day  everybody  began 
to  build  romances  upon  that  harmless  piece  of  household 
stuflf.    Everyone  had  a  version. 

On  the  following  day,  that  on  which  Mme.  de  Dey  gave 
out  that  she  was  not  well,  the  magnates  of  Carentan  went 
to  spend  the  evening  at  the  mayor's  brother's  house.  He 
was  a  retired  merchant,  a  married  man,  a  strictly  honorable 
soul;  everyone  respected  him,  and  the  Countess  held  him 
in  high  regard.  There  all  the  rich  widows'  suitors  were 
fain  to  invent  more  or  less  probable  fictions,  each  one 
thinking  the  while  how  to  turn  to  his  own  advantage  the 
secret  that  compelled  her  to  compromise  herself  in  such 
a  manner. 

The  public  prosecutor  spun  out  a  whole  drama  to  bring 
Mme.  de  Dey's  son  to  her  house  of  a  night.  The  mayor 
had  a  belief  in  a  priest  who  had  refused  the  oath,  a  refugee 
from  La  Vendee ;  but  this  left  him  not  a  little  embarrassed 
how  to  account  for  the  purchase  of  a  hare  on  a  Friday* 

187 


French  Mystery  Stories 

The  president  of  the  district  had  strong  leanings  toward  a 
Chouan  chief,  or  a  Vendean  leader  hotly  pursued.  Others 
voted  for  a  noble  escaped  from  the  prisons  of  Paris.  In 
short,  one  and  all  suspected  that  the  Countess  had  been 
guilty  of  some  piece  of  generosity  that  the  law  of  those 
days  defined  as  a  crime,  an  offense  that  was  like  to  bring 
her  to  the  scaffold.  The  public  prosecutor,  moreover,  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  that  they  must  hush  the  matter  up,  and 
try  to  save  the  unfortunate  lady  from  the  abyss  toward 
which  she  was  hastening. 

If  you  spread  reports  about,"  he  added,  "  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  take  cognizance  of  the  matter,  and  to  search  the 
house,  and  then!  .  . 

He  said  no  more,  but  everyone  understood  what  was  left 
unsaid. 

The  Countess's  real  friends  were  so  much  alarmed  for 
her,  that  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day  the  Procureur 
Sy7idic  of  the  commune  made  his  wife  write  a  few  lines  to 
persuade  Mme.  de  Dey  to  hold  her  reception  as  usual  that 
evening.  The  old  merchant  took  a  bolder  step.  He  called 
that  morning  upon  the  lady.  Strong  in  the  thought  of  the 
service  he  meant  to  do  her,  he  insisted  that  he  must  see 
Mme.  de  Dey,  and  was  amazed  beyond  expression  to  find 
her  out  in  the  garden,  busy  gathering  the  last  autumn 
flowers  in  her  borders  to  fill  the  vases. 

"  She  has  given  refuge  to  her  lover,  no  doubt,"  thought 
the  old  man,  struck  with  pity  for  the  charming  woman  be- 
fore him. 

The  Countess's  face  wore  a  strange  look,  that  confirmed 
his  suspicions.  Deeply  moved  by  the  devotion  so  natural 
to  women,  but  that  always  touches  us,  because  all  men  are 
flattered  by  the  sacrifices  that  any  woman  makes  for  any 
one  of  them,  the  merchant  told  the  Countess  of  the  gossip 
that  was  circulating  in  the  town,  and  showed  her  the  dan- 
ger that  she  was  running.  He  wound  up  at  last  with  saying 
that  "  if  there  are  some  of  our  public  functionaries  who  are 
sufficiently  ready  to  pardon  a  piece  of  heroism  on  your 
part  so  long  as  it  is  a  priest  that  you  wish  to  save,  no  one 

i88 


Honore  de  Balzac 

will  show  you  any  mercy  if  it  is  discovered  that  you  are 
sacrificing  yourself  to  the  dictates  of  your  heart." 

At  these  words  Mme.  de  Dey  gazed  at  her  visitor  with 
a  wild  excitement  in  her  manner  that  made  him  tremble, 
old  though  he  was. 

Come  in,"  she  said,  taking  him  by  the  hand  to  bring 
him  to  her  room,  and  as  soon  as  she  had  assured  herself 
that  they  were  alone,  she  drew  a  soiled,  torn  letter  from 
her  bodice. — Read  it!  "  she  cried,  with  a  violent  effort  to 
pronounce  the  words. 

She  dropped  as  if  exhausted  into  her  armchair.  While 
the  old  merchant  looked  for  his  spectacles  and  wiped  them, 
she  raised  her  eyes,  and  for  the  first  time  looked  at  him 
with  curiosity ;  then,  in  an  uncertain  voice,  "  I  trust  in 
you,"  she  said  softly. 

Why  did  I  come  but  to  share  in  your  crime  ?  "  the  old 
merchant  said  simply. 

She  trembled.  For  the  first  time  since  she  had  come 
to  the  little  town  her  soul  found  sympathy  in  another 
soul.  A  sudden  light  dawned  meantime  on  the  old  mer- 
chant ;  he  understood  the  Countess's  joy  and  her  prostra- 
tion. 

Her  son  had  taken  part  in  the  Granville  expedition;  he 
wrote  to  his  mother  from  his  prison,  and  the  letter  brought 
her  a  sad,  sweet  hope.  Feeling  no  doubts  as  to  his  means 
of  escape,  he  wrote  that  within  three  days  he  was  sure  to 
reach  her,  disguised.  The  same  letter  that  brought  these 
weighty  tidings  was  full  of  heartrending  farewells  in  case 
the  writer  should  not  be  in  Carentan  by  the  evening  of  the 
third  day,  and  he  implored  his  mother  to  send  a  consider- 
able sum  of  money  by  the  bearer,  who  had  gone  through 
dangers  innumerable  to  deliver  it.  The  paper  shook  in  the 
old  man's  hands. 

And  to-day  is  the  third  day !  "  cried  Mme.  de  Dey. 
She  sprang  to  her  feet,  took  back  the  letter,  and  walked 
up  and  down. 

You  have  set  to  work  imprudently,"  the  merchant  re- 
marked, addressing  her.   "  Why  did  you  buy  provisions  ? 

189 


French  Mystery  Stories 

"  Why,  he  may  come  in  dying  of  hunger,  worn  out  with 
fatigue,  and — She  broke  off. 

I  am  sure  of  my  brother,''  the  old  merchant  went  on ; 
I  will  engage  him  in  your  interests.'' 

The  merchant  in  this  crisis  recovered  his  old  business 
shrewdness,  and  the  advice  that  he  gave  Mme.  de  Dey  was 
full  of  prudence  and  wisdom.  After  the  two  had  agreed 
together  as  to  what  they  were  to  do  and  say,  the  old 
merchant  went  on  various  ingenious  pretexts  to  pay  visits 
to  the  principal  houses  of  Carentan,  announcing  wherever 
he  went  that  he  had  just  been  to  see  Mme.  de  Dey,  and 
that,  in  spite  of  her  indisposition,  she  would  receive  that 
evening.  Matching  his  shrewdness  against  Norman  wits 
in  the  cross-examination  he  underwent  in  every  family  as 
to  the  Countess's  complaint,  he  succeeded  in  putting  al- 
most everyone  who  took  an  interest  in  the  mysterious  af- 
fair upon  the  wrong  scent. 

His  very  first  call  worked  wonders.  He  told,  in  the 
hearing  of  a  gouty  old  lady,  how  that  Mme.  de  Dey  had  all 
but  died  of  an  attack  of  gout  in  the  stomach ;  how  that  the 
illustrious  Tronchin  had  recommended  her  in  such  a  case 
to  put  the  skin  from  a  live  hare  on  her  chest,  to  stop  in 
bed,  and  keep  perfectly  still.  The  Countess,  he  said,  had 
lain  in  danger  of  her  life  for  the  past  two  days ;  but  after 
carefully  following  out  Tronchin's  singular  prescription,  she 
was  now  sufficiently  recovered  to  receive  visitors  that 
evening. 

This  tale  had  an  immense  success  in  Carentan.  The  local 
doctor,  a  Royalist  in  petto,  added  to  its  effect  by  gravely 
discussing  the  specific.  Suspicion,  nevertheless,  had  taken 
too  deep  root  in  a  few  perverse  or  philosophical  minds  to 
be  entirely  dissipated;  so  it  fell  out  that  those  who  had  the 
right  of  entry  into  Mme.  de  Dey's  drawing-room  hurried 
thither  at  an  early  hour,  some  to  watch  her  face,  some  out 
of  friendship,  but  the  more  part  attracted  by  the  fame  of 
the  marvelous  cure. 

They  found  the  Countess  seated  in  a  corner  of  the  great 
chimney-piece  in  her  room,  which  was  almost  as  modestly 

190 


Honore  de  Bakac 


furnished  as  similar  apartments  in  Carentan;  for  she  had 
given  up  the  enjoyment  of  luxuries  to  which  she  had 
formerly  been  accustomed,  for  fear  of  offending  the  nar- 
row prejudices  of  her  guests,  and  she  had  made  no  changes 
in  her  house.  The  floor  was  not  even  polished.  She  had 
left  the  old  somber  hangings  on  the  walls,  had  kept  the  old- 
fashioned  country  furniture,  burned  tallow  candles,  had 
fallen  in  with  the  ways  of  the  place  and  adopted  provincial 
life  without  flinching  before  its  cast-iron  narrowness,  its 
most  disagreeable  hardships ;  but  knowing  that  her  guests 
would  forgive  her  for  any  prodigality  that  conduced  to 
their  comfort,  she  left  nothing  undone  where  their  per- 
sonal enjoyment  was  concerned;  her  dinners,  for  instance, 
were  excellent  She  even  went  so  far  as  to  affect  avarice 
to  recommend  herself  to  these  sordid  natures ;  and  had  the 
ingenuity  to  make  it  appear  that  certain  concessions  to 
luxury  had  been  made  at  the  instance  of  others,  to  whom 
she  had  graciously  yielded. 

Toward  seven  o'clock  that  evening,  therefore,  the  near- 
est approach  to  polite  society  that  Carentan  could  boast 
was  assembled  in  Mme.  de  Dey's  drawing-room,  in  a  wide 
circle,  about  the  fire.  The  old  merchant's  sympathetic 
glances  sustained  the  mistress  of  the  house  through  this 
ordeal;  with  wonderful  strength  of  mind,  she  underwent 
the  curious  scrutiny  of  her  guests,  and  bore  with  their 
trivial  prosings.  Every  time  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door, 
at  every  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  street,  she  hid  her  agi- 
tation by  raising  questions  of  absorbing  interest  to  the 
countryside.  She  led  the  conversation  on  to  the  burning 
topic  of  the  quality  of  various  ciders^  and  was  so  well  sec- 
onded by  her  friend  who  shared  her  secret,  that  her  guests 
almost  forgot  to  watch  her,  and  her  face  wore  its  wonted 
look ;  her  self-possession  was  unshaken.  The  public  prose- 
cutor and  one  of  the  judges  of  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal 
kept  silence,  however;  noting  the  slightest  change  that 
flickered  over  her  features,  listening  through  the  noisy 
talk  to  every  sound  in  the  house.  Several  times  they 
put  awkward  questions,  which  the  Countess  answered 

191 


French  Mystery  Stories 

with  wonderful  presence  of  mind.  So  brave  is  a  mother's 
heart ! 

Mme.  de  Dey  had  drawn  her  visitors  into  Httle  groups, 
had  made  parties  of  whist,  boston,  or  reversis,  and  sat  talk- 
ing with  some  of  the  young  people ;  she  seemed  to  be  liv- 
ing completely  in  the  present  moment,  and  played  her  part 
like  a  consummate  actress.  She  elicited  a  suggestion  of 
loto,  and  saying  that  no  one  else  knew  where  to  find  the 
game,  she  left  the  room. 

"  My  good  Brigitte,  I  cannot  breathe  down  there ! she 
cried,  brushing  away  the  tears  that  sprang  to  her  eyes  that 
glittered  with  fever,  sorrow^  and  impatience. — She  had  gone 
up  to  her  son's  room,  and  was  looking  round  it.  He 
does  not  come,"  she  said.  "  Here  I  can  breathe  and  live. 
A  few  minutes  more,  and  he  will  be  here,  for  he  is  alive, 
I  am  sure  that  he  is  alive !  my  heart  tells  me  so.  Do  you 
hear  nothing,  Brigitte  ?  Oh !  I  would  give  the  rest  of  my 
life  to  know  whether  he  is  still  in  prison  or  tramping  across 
the  country.   I  would  rather  not  think." 

Once  more  she  looked  to  see  that  everything  was  in  or- 
der. A  bright  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth,  the  shutters  were 
carefully  closed,  the  furniture  shone  with  cleanliness,  the 
bed  had  been  made  after  a  fashion  that  showed  that  Brigitte 
and  the  Countess  had  given  their  minds  to  every  trifling 
detail.  It  was  impossible  not  to  read  her  hopes  in  the  dainty 
and  thoughtful  preparations  about  the  room;  love  and  a 
mother's  tenderest  caresses  seemed  to  pervade  the  air  in 
the  scent  of  flowers.  None  but  a  mother  could  have  fore- 
seen the  requirements  of  a  soldier  and  arranged  so  com- 
pletely for  their  satisfaction.  A  dainty  meal,  the  best  of 
wine,  clean  linen,  slippers — no  necessary,  no  comfort,  was 
lacking  for  the  weary  traveler,  and  all  the  delights  of  home 
heaped  upon  him  should  reveal  his  mother's  love. 

Oh,  Brigitte !  .  .  ."  cried  the  Countess,  with  a  heart- 
rending inflection  in  her  voice.  She  drew  a  chair  to  the 
table  as  if  to  strengthen  her  illusions  and  realize  her  long- 
ings. 

"  Ah !  madame,  he  is  coming.    He  is  not  far  off.  ...  I 

192 


Honore  de  Balzac 


haven't  a  doubt  that  he  is  Hving  and  on  his  way,"  Brigitte 
answered.  ^'  I  put  a  key  in  the  Bible  and  held  it  on  my 
fingers  while  Cottin  read  the  Gospel  of  St.  John,  and  the 
key  did  not  turn,  madame.'' 

''Is  that  a  certain  sign?''  the  Countess  asked. 

"  Why,  yes,  madame !  everybody  knows  that.  He  is  still 
alive ;  I  would  stake  my  salvation  on  it ;  God  cannot  be 
mistaken." 

If  only  I  could  see  him  here  in  the  house,  in  spite  of 
the  danger." 

''Poor  Monsieur  Auguste!"  cried  Brigitte;  ''I  expect 
he  is  tramping  along  the  lanes ! " 

And  that  is  eight  o'clock  striking  now ! "  cried  the 
Countess  in  terror. 

She  was  afraid  that  she  had  been  too  long  in  the  room 
where  she  felt  sure  that  her  son  was  alive ;  all  those  prepara- 
tions made  for  him  meant  that  he  was  alive.  She  went 
down,  but  she  lingered  a  moment  in  the  peristyle  for  any 
sound  that  might  waken  the  sleeping  echoes  of  the  town. 
She  smiled  at  Brigitte's  husband,  who  was  standing  there 
on  guard ;  the  man's  eyes  looked  stupid  with  the  strain  of 
listening  to  the  faint  sounds  of  the  night.  She  stared  into 
the  darkness,  seeing  her  son  in  every  shadow  everywhere ; 
but  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  Then  she  went  back  to  the 
drawing-room  with  an  assumption  of  high  spirits,  and  be- 
gan to  play  at  loto  with  the  little  girls.  But  from  time  to 
time  she  complained  of  feeling  unwell,  and  went  to  sit  in 
her  great  chair  by  the  fireside.  So  things  went  in  Mme. 
de  Dey's  house  and  in  the  minds  of  those  beneath  her  roof. 

Meanwhile,  on  the  road  from  Paris  to  Cherbourg,  a 
young  man,  dressed  in  the  inevitable  brown  carmagnole  of 
those  days,  was  plodding  his  way  toward  Carentan.  When 
the  first  levies  were  made,  there  was  little  or  no  discipline 
kept  up.  The  exigencies  of  the  moment  scarcely  admitted 
of  soldiers  being  equipped  at  once,  and  it  was  no  uncom- 
mon thing  to  see  the  roads  thronged  with  conscripts  in  their 
ordinary  clothes.  The  young  fellows  went  ahead  of  their 
company  to  the  next  halting  place,  or  lagged  behind  it ;  it 

193 


French  Mystery  Stories 

depended  upon  their  fitness  to  bear  the  fatigues  of  a  long 
march.  This  particular  wayfarer  was  some  considerable 
v/^y  in  advance  of  a  company  of  conscripts  on  the  way  to 
Cherbourg,  whom  the  mayor  was  expecting  to  arrive  every 
hour,  for  it  was  his  duty  to  distribute  their  billets.  The 
young  man's  footsteps  were  still  firm  as  he  trudged  along, 
and  his  bearing  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  was  no  stranger 
to  the  rough  life  of  a  soldier.  The  moon  shone  on  the 
pasture  land  about  Carentan,  but  he  had  noticed  great 
masses  of  white  cloud  that  were  about  to  scatter  showers 
of  snow  over  the  country,  and  doubtless  the  fear  of  being 
overtaken  by  a  storm  had  quickened  his  pace  in  spite  of 
his  weariness. 

The  wallet  on  his  back  was  almost  empty,  and  he  carried 
a  stick  in  his  hand,  cut  from  one  of  the  high,  thick  box 
hedges  that  surround  most  of  the  farms  in  Lower  Nor- 
mandy. As  the  solitary  wayfarer  came  into  Carentan,  the 
gleaming  moonlit  outlines  of  its  towers  stood  out  for  a 
moment  with  ghostly  effect  against  the  sky.  He  met  no 
one  in  the  silent  streets  that  rang  with  the  echoes  of  his 
own  footsteps,  and  was  obliged  to  ask  the  way  to  the 
mayor's  house  of  a  weaver  who  was  working  late.  The 
magistrate  was  not  far  to  seek,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
conscript  was  sitting  on  a  stone  bench  in  the  mayor's  porch 
waiting  for  his  billet.  He  was  sent  for,  however,  and  con- 
fronted with  that  functionary,  who  scrutinized  him  closely. 
The  foot  soldier  was  a  good-looking  young  man,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  of  gentle  birth.  There  was  something  aristo- 
cratic in  his  bearing,  and  signs  in  his  face  of  intelligence 
developed  by  a  good  education. 

"  What  is  your  name  ? ''  asked  the  mayor,  eying  him 
shrewdly. 

"  Julien  Jussieu,"  answered  the  conscript. 

"From  ?"  queried  the  official,  and  an  incredulous 

smile  stole  over  his  features. 
"  From  Paris." 

"  Your  comrades  must  be  a  good  way  behind  ? "  re- 
marked the  Norman  in  sarcastic  tones. 

194 


Honore  de  Balzac 


I  am  three  leagues  ahead  of  the  battalion." 

Some  sentiment  attracts  you  to  Carentan,  of  course^ 
citizen-conscript,"  said  the  mayor  astutely.  "  All  right,  all 
right ! "  he  added,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  seeing  that  the 
young  man  was  about  to  speak.  "  We  know  where  to  send 
you.  There,  off  with  you,  Citizen  Jussieu/'  and  he  handed 
over  the  billet. 

There  was  a  tinge  of  irony  in  the  stress  the  magistrate 
laid  on  the  two  last  words  while  he  held  out  a  billet  on 
Mme.  de  Dey.   The  conscript  read  the  direction  curiously. 

"  He  knows  quite  well  that  he  has  not  far  to  go,  and 
when  he  gets  outside  he  will  very  soon  cross  the  market- 
place," said  the  mayor  to  himself,  as  the  other  went  out. 
"  He  is  uncommonly  bold !  God  guide  him !  .  .  .  He  has 
an  answer  ready  for  everything.  Yes,  but  if  somebody  else 
had  asked  to  see  his  papers  it  would  have  been  all  up  with 
him ! " 

The  clocks  in  Carentan  struck  half-past  nine  as  he  spoke. 
Lanterns  were  being  lit  in  Mme.  de  Dey's  antechamber, 
servants  were  helping  their  masters  and  mistresses  into 
sabots,  greatcoats,  and  calashes.  The  card  players  settled 
their  accounts,  and  everybody  went  out  together,  after  the 
fashion  of  all  little  country  towns. 

"  It  looks  as  if  the  prosecutor  meant  to  stop,"  said  a 
lady,  who  noticed  that  that  important  personage  was  not 
in  the  group  in  the  market-place,  where  they  all  took  leave 
of  one  another  before  going  their  separate  ways  home. 
And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  redoubtable  functionary  was 
alone  with  the  Countess,  who  waited  trembling  till  he 
should  go.  There  was  something  appalling  in  their  long 
silence. 

Citoyenne,"  said  he  at  last,  "  I  am  here  to  see  that  the 

laws  of  the  Republic  are  carried  out  " 

Mme.  de  Dey  shuddered. 

Have  you  nothing  to  tell  me  ?  " 
"  Nothing !  "  she  answered,  in  amazement. 
Ah !  madame,"  cried  the  prosecutor,  sitting  down  be- 
side her  and  changing  his  tone.     At  this  moment,  for  lack 

195 


French  Mystery  Stories 

of  a  word,  one  of  us — you  or  I — may  carry  our  heads  to 
the  scaffold.  I  have  watched  your  character,  your  soul, 
your  manner,  too  closely  to  share  the  error  into  which  you 
have  managed  to  lead  your  visitors  to-night.  You  are  ex- 
pecting your  son,  I  could  not  doubt  it." 

The  Countess  made  an  involuntary  sign  of  denial,  but 
her  face  had  grown  white  and  drawn  with  the  struggle  to 
maintain  the  composure  that  she  did  not  feel,  and  no  tremor 
was  lost  on  the  merciless  prosecutor. 

V ery  well,''  the  Revolutionary  official  went  on,  re- 
ceive him ;  but  do  not  let  him  stay  under  your  roof  after 
seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morning ;  for  to-morrow,  as  soon 
as  it  is  light,  I  shall  come  with  a  denunciation  that  I  will 
have  made  out,  and  " 

She  looked  at  him,  and  the  dull  misery  in  her  eyes  would 
have  softened  a  tiger. 

I  will  make  it  clear  that  the  denunciation  was  false  by 
making  a  thorough  search,"  he  went  on  in  a  gentle  voice ; 
"  my  report  shall  be  such  that  you  will  be  safe  from  any 
subsequent  suspicion.  I  shall  make  mention  of  your  patri- 
otic gifts,  your  civism,  and  all  of  us  will  be  safe." 

Mme.  de  Dey,  fearful  of  a  trap,  sat  motionless,  her  face 
afire,  her  tongue  frozen.  A  knock  at  the  door  rang  through 
the  house. 

Oh !  .  .  ."  cried  the  terrified  mother,  falling  upon  her 
knees;  "save  him!  save  him!" 

"  Yes,  let  us  save  him ! "  returned  the  public  prosecutor, 
and  his  eyes  grew  bright  as  he  looked  at  her,  if  it  costs  us 
our  lives  !  "  ' 

Lost !  "  she  wailed.   The  prosecutor  raised  her  politely. 

Madame,"  said  he  with  a  flourish  of  eloquence,  "  to 
your  own  free  will  alone  would  I  owe  " 

Madame,  he  is  "  cried  Brigitte,  thinking  that  her 

mistress  was  alone.  At  the  sight  of  the  public  prosecutor, 
the  old  servant's  joy-flushed  countenance  became  haggard 
and  impassive. 

Who  is  it,  Brigitte  ?  "  the  prosecutor  asked  kindly,  as 
if  he  too  were  in  the  secret  of  the  household. 

196 


Honore  de  Balzac 


"  A  conscript  that  the  mayor  has  sent  here  for  a  night's 
lodging,"  the  woman  repHed,  holding  out  the  billet. 

So  it  is,"  said  the  prosecutor,  when  he  had  read  the 
slip  of  paper.    "  A  battalion  is  coming  here  to-night." 

And  he  went. 

The  Countess's  need  to  believe  in  the  faith  of  her  some- 
time attorney  was  so  great,  that  she  dared  not  entertain 
any  suspicion  of  him.  She  fled  upstairs;  she  felt  scarcely 
strength  enough  to  stand ;  she  opened  the  door,  and  sprang, 
half  dead  with  fear,  into  her  son's  arms. 

Oh !  my  child !  my  child ! "  she  sobbed,  covering  him 
with  almost  frenzied  kisses. 

"  Madame !  .  .  ."  said  a  stranger's  voice. 

"  Oh !  it  is  not  he !  "  she  cried,  shrinking  away  in  terror, 
and  she  stood  face  to  face  with  the  conscript,  gazing  at  him 
with  haggard  eyes. 

0  saint  bon  Dieu!  how  like  he  is !  "  cried  Brigitte. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment ;  even  the  stranger  trem- 
bled at  the  sight  of  Mme.  de  Dey's  face. 

**Ah!  monsieur,"  she  said,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Bri- 
gitte's  husband,  feeling  for  the  first  time  the  full  extent 
of  a  sorrow  that  had  all  but  killed  her  at  its  first  threaten- 
ing ;  ah !  monsieur,  I  cannot  stay  to  see  you  any  longer 
.  .  .  permit  my  servants  to  supply  my  place,  and  to  see 
that  you  have  all  that  you  want." 

She  went  down  to  her  own  room,  Brigitte  and  the  old 
serving-man  half  carrying  her  between  them.  The  house- 
keeper set  her  mistress  in  a  chair,  and  broke  out: 

"  What,  madame !  is  that  man  to  sleep  in  Monsieur  Au- 
guste's  bed,  and  wear  Monsieur  Auguste's  slippers,  and  eat 
the  pasty  that  I  made  for  Monsieur  Auguste  ?   Why,  if  they 

were  to  guillotine  me  for  it,  I  " 

Brigitte !  "  cried  Mme.  de  Dey. 

Brigitte  said  no  more. 
Hold  your  tongue,  chatterbox,"  said  her  husband,  in  a 
low  voice;    do  you  want  to  kill  madame?" 

A  sound  came  from  the  conscript's  room  as  he  drew  his 
chair  to  the  table. 

197 


French  Mystery  Stories 

I  shall  not  stay  here/'  cried  Mme.  de  Dey ;  I  shall  go 
into  the  conservatory;  I  shall  hear  better  there  if  anyone 
passes  in  the  night/' 

She  still  wavered  between  the  fear  that  she  had  lost  her 
son  and  the  hope  of  seeing  him  once  more.  That  night 
was  hideously  silent.  Once,  for  the  Countess,  there  was 
an  awful  interval,  when  the  battalion  of  conscripts  entered 
the  town,  and  the  men  went  by,  one  by  one,  to  their  lodg- 
ings. Every  footfall,  every  sound  in  the  street,  raised  hopes 
to  be  disappointed;  but  it  was  not  for  long,  the  dreadful 
quiet  succeeded  again.  Toward  morning  the  Countess  was 
forced  to  return  to  her  room.  Brigitte,  ever  keeping  watch 
over  her  mistress's  movements,  did  not  see  her  come  out 
again ;  and  when  she  went,  she  found  the  Countess  lying 
there  dead. 

"  I  expect  she  heard  that  conscript,"  cried  Brigitte, 
walking  about  Monsieur  Auguste's  room,  whistling  that 
accursed  Marseillaise  of  theirs  while  he  dressed,  as  if  he 
had  been  in  a  stable !   That  must  have  killed  her." 

But  it  was  a  deeper  and  a  more  solemn  emotion,  and 
doubtless  some  dreadful  vision,  that  had  caused  Mme.  de 
Dey's  death ;  for  at  the  very  hour  when  she  died  at  Caren- 
tan,  her  son  was  shot  in  le  Morbihan. 

This  tragical  story  may  be  added  to  all  the  instances  on 
record  of  the  workings  of  sympathies  uncontrolled  by  the 
laws  of  time  and  space.  These  observations,  collected  with 
scientific  curiosity  by  a  few  isolated  individuals,  will  one 
day  serve  as  documents  on  which  to  base  the  foundations 
of  a  new  science  which  hitherto  has  lacked  its  man  of 
genius. 


198 


Introduction  to  Zadig  the  Babylonian 


A  work  {says  the  author)  which  performs  more  than  it  promises 

Voltaire  never  heard  of  a  ''detective  story";  and  yet  he  wrote^ 
the  first  in  modern  literature,  so  clever  as  to  be  a  model  for  all  the 
others  that  followed. 

He  describes  his  hero  Zadig  thus:  **His  chief  talent  consisted  in 
discovering  the  truth," — in  making  swift,  yet  marvelous  deductions, 
worthy  of  Sherlock  Holmes  or  any  other  of  the  ingenious  modem 
thinking  machines." 

But  no  one  would  be  more  surprised  than  Voltaire  to  behold  the 
part  that  Zadig  now  "performs."  The  amusing  Babylonian,  now  re- 
garded as  the  aristocratic  ancestor  of  modern  story-detectives,  was 
created  as  a  chief  mocker  in  a  satire  on  eighteenth-century  man- 
ners, morals,  and  metaphysics. 

Voltaire  breathed  his  dazzling  brilliance  into  "Zadig"  as  he  did  into 
a  hundred  other  characters — for  a  political  purpose.  Their  veiled 
and  bitter  satire  was  to  make  Europe  think — to  sting  reason  into 
action — to  ridicule  out  of  existence  a  humbugging  System  of  special 
privileges.  It  did,  via  the  French  Revolution  and  the  resulting 
upheavals.  His  prose  romances  are  the  most  perfect  of  Voltaire's 
manifold  expressions  to  this  end,  which  mark  him  the  most  power- 
ful literary  man  of  the  century. 

But  the  arch-v\^it  of  his  age  outdid  his  brilliant  self  in  "  Zadig." 
So  surpassingly  sharp  and  quick  was  this  finished  sleuth  that  his 
methods  far  outlived  his  satirical  mission.  His  razor-mind  was  re- 
incarnated a  century  later  as  the  fascinator  of  nations — M.  Dupin. 
And  from  Poe's  wizard  up  to  Sherlock  Holmes,  no  one  of  the  thou- 
sand "detectives,"  drawn  in  a  myriad  scenes  that  thrill  the  world  of 
readers,  but  owes  his  outlines,  at  least,  to  "Zadig." 

"Don't  use  your  reason — act  like  your  friends — respect  conven- 
tionalities— otherwise  the  world  will  absolutely  refuse  to  let  you  be 
happy."  This  sums  up  the  theory  of  life  that  Zadig  satires.  His 
comical  troubles  proceed  entirely  from  his  use  of  independent  reason 
as  opposed  to  the  customs  of  his  times. 

The  satire  fitted  ancient  Babylonia — it  fitted  eighteenth-century 
France — and  perhaps  the  reader  of  these  volumes  can  find  some 
points  of  contact  with  his  own  surroundings. 

199 


French  Mystery  Stories 


It  is  still  piquant,  however,  to  remember  Zadig's  original  raison 
d'etre.  He  happened  to  be  cast  in  the  part  of  what  we  now  know  as 
**a  detective,"  merely  because  Voltaire  had  been  reading  stories  in 
the  Arabian  Nights  "  whose  heroes  get  out  of  scrapes  by  marvel- 
ous deductions  from  simple  signs.    (See  Vol.  VI.) 

Voltaire  must  have  grinned  at  the  delicious  human  interest,  the 
subtle  irony  to  pierce  complacent  humbugs,  that  lurked  behind 
these  Oriental  situations.  He  made  the  most  of  his  chance  for  a 
c^uaint  parable,  applicable  to  the  courts,  the  church  and  science  of 
Europe.  As  the  story  runs  on,  midst  many  and  sudden  adventures, 
the  Babylonian  reads  causes  from  events  in  guileless  fashion,  en- 
thusiastic as  Sherlock  Holmes,  and  no  less  efficient — and  all  the  while, 
behind  this  innocent  mask,  Voltaire  is  insinuating  a  comparison 
between  the  practical  results  of  Zadig's  common  sense  and  the 
futile  mental  cobwebs  spun  by  the  alleged  thought  of  the  time. 

Especially  did  "Zadig"  caricature  orthodox  science,  and  the  meta- 
physicians, whose  solemn  searches  after  final  causes,  after  the  reality 
behind  the  appearance  of  things,  mostly  wandered  into  hopeless 
tangles,  and  thus  formed  a  great  weapon  of  political  oppression,  by 
postponing  the  age  of  reason  and  independent  thought.  Zadig  **did 
not  employ  himself  in  calculating  how  many  inches  of  water  flow  in  a 
second  of  time  under  the  arches  of  a  bridge,  or  whether  there  fell  a 
cube  line  of  rain  in  the  month  of  the  Mouse  more  than  in  the  month  of 
the  Sheep.  He  never  dreamed  of  making  silk  of  cobwebs,  or  porce- 
lain of  broken  bottles ;  but  he  chiefly  studied  the  properties  of  plants 
and  animals ;  and  soon  acquired  a  sagacity  that  made  him  discover  a 
thousand  differences  where  other  men  see  nothing  hut  uniformity 


200 


Francois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 


Zadig  the  Babylonian 

THE  BLIND  OF  ONE  EYE 

'Y^HERE  lived  at  Babylon,  in  the  reign  of  King  Moab- 
dar,  a  young  man  named  Zadig,  of  a  good  natural 
disposition,  strengthened  and  improved  by  education. 
Though  rich  and  young,  he  had  learned  to  moderate  his 
passions;  he  had  nothing  stiff  or  affected  in  his  behavior, 
he  did  not  pretend  to  examine  every  action  by  the  strict 
rules  of  reason,  but  was  always  ready  to  make  proper  al- 
lowances for  the  v/eakness  of  mankind. 

It  was  matter  of  surprise  that,  notwithstanding  his 
sprightly  wit,  he  never  exposed  by  his  raillery  those  vague, 
incoherent,  and  noisy  discourses,  those  rash  censures,  ig- 
norant decisions,  coarse  jests,  and  all  that  empty  jingle  of 
words  which  at  Ba.bylon  went  by  the  name  of  conversation. 
He  had  learned,  in  the  first  book  of  Zoroaster,  that  self 
love  is  a  football  swelled  with  wind,  from  which,  when 
pierced,  the  most  terrible  tempests  issue  forth. 

Above  all,  Zadig  never  boasted  of  his  conquests  among 
the  women,  nor  affected  to  entertain  a  contemptible  opin- 
ion of  the  fair  sex.  He  was  generous,  and  was  never  afraid 
of  obliging  the  ungrateful;  remembering  the  grand  precept 
of  Zoroaster,  "  When  thou  eatest,  give  to  the  dogs,  should 
they  even  bite  thee.''  He  was  as  wise  as  it  is  possible  for 
man  to  be,  for  he  sought  to  live  with  the  wise. 

Instructed  in  the  sciences  of  the  ancient  Chaldeans,  he 
understood  the  principles  of  natural  philosophy,  such  as 
they  were  then  supposed  to  be;  and  knew  as  much  of 
metaphysics  as  hath  ever  been  known  in  any  age,  that  is, 
little  or  nothing  at  all.    He  was  firmly  persuaded,  not- 

201 


French  Mystery  Stories 

withstanding  the  new  philosophy  of  the  times,  that  the  year 
consisted  of  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  and  six 
hours,  and  that  the  sun  was  in  the  center  of  the  world.  But 
w^hen  the  principal  magi  told  him,  with  a  haughty  and 
contemptuous  air,  that  his  sentiments  were  of  a  dangerous 
tendency,  and  that  it  was  to  be  an  enemy  to  the  state 
to  believe  that  the  sun  revolved  round  its  own  axis,  and 
that  the  year  had  twelve  months,  he  held  his  tongue  with 
great  modesty  and  meekness. 

Possessed  as  he  was  of  great  riches,  and  consequently 
of  many  friends,  blessed  with  a  good  constitution,  a  hand- 
some figure,  a  mind  just  and  moderate,  and  a  heart  noble 
and  sincere,  he  fondly  imagined  that  he  might  easily  be 
happy.  He  w^as  going  to  be  married  to  Semira,  who,  in 
point  of  beauty,  birth,  and  fortune,  was  the  first  match  in 
Babylon.  He  had  a  real  and  virtuous  affection  for  this 
lady,  and  she  loved  him  w^ith  the  most  passionate  fond- 
ness. 

The  happy  moment  was  almost  arrived  that  was  to  unite 
them  forever  in  the  bands  of  wedlock,  when  happening  to 
take  a  walk  together  toward  one  of  the  gates  of  Babylon, 
under  the  palm  trees  that  adorn  the  banks  of  the  Eu- 
phrates, they  saw  some  men  approaching,  armed  with 
sabers  and  arrows.  These  were  the  attendants  of  young 
Orcan,  the  minister's  nephew,  whom  his  uncle's  creatures 
had  flattered  into  an  opinion  that  he  might  do  everything 
with  impunity.  He  had  none  of  the  graces  nor  virtues  of 
Zadig;  but  thinking  himself  a  much  more  accomplished 
man,  he  was  enraged  to  find  that  the  other  was  preferred 
before  him.  This  jealousy,  which  was  merely  the  effect 
of  his  vanity,  made  him  imagine  that  he  was  desperately 
in  love  with  Semira;  and  accordingly  he  resolved  to  carry 
her  off.  The  ravishers  seized  her;  in  the  violence  of  the 
outrage  they  wounded  her,  and  made  the  blood  flow  from 
a  person,  the  sight  of  which  would  have  softened  the  tigers 
of  Mount  Imaus.  She  pierced  the  heavens  with  her  com- 
plaints. She  cried  out,  My  dear  husband!  they  tear  me 
from  the  man  I  adore.''    Regardless  of  her  own  danger, 

202 


Frangois  Marie  Aroiiet  de  Voltaire 

she  was  only  concerned  for  the  fate  of  her  dear  Zadig, 
who,  in  the  meantime,  defended  himself  with  all  the 
strength  that  courage  and  love  could  inspire.  Assisted 
only  by  two  slaves,  he  put  the  ravishers  to  flight  and  car- 
ried home  Semira,  insensible  and  bloody  as  she  was. 

On  opening  her  eyes  and  beholding  her  deliverer,  "  O 
Zadig!"  said  she,  "I  loved  thee  formerly  as  my  intended 
husband;  I  now  love  thee  as  the  preserver  of  my  honor 
and  my  life."  Never  was  heart  more  deeply  affected  than 
that  of  Semira.  Never  did  a  more  charming  mouth  ex- 
press more  moving  sentiments,  in  those  glowing  words  in- 
spired by  a  sense  of  the  greatest  of  all  favors,  and  by  the 
most  tender  transports  of  a  lawful  passion. 

Her  wound  was  slight  and  was  soon  cured.  Zadig  was 
more  dangerously  wounded;  an  arrow  had  pierced  him 
near  his  eye,  and  penetrated  to  a  considerable  depth. 
Semira  wearied  Heaven  with  her  prayers  for  the  recovery 
of  her  lover.  Her  eyes  were  constantly  bathed  in  tears; 
she  anxiously  waited  the  happy  moment  when  those  of 
Zadig  should  be  able  to  meet  hers;  but  an  abscess  grow- 
ing on  the  wounded  eye  gave  everything  to  fear.  A  mes- 
senger was  immediately  dispatched  to  Memphis  for  the 
great  physician  Hermes,  who  came  with  a  numerous  ret- 
inue. He  visited  the  patient  and  declared  that  he  would 
lose  his  eye.  He  even  foretold  the  day  and  hour  when  this 
fatal  event  would  happen.  Had  it  been  the  right  eye," 
said  he,  I  could  easily  have  cured  it;  but  the  wounds  of 
the  left  eye  are  incurable."  All  Babylon  lamented  the 
fate  of  Zadig,  and  admired  the  profound  knowledge  of 
Hermes. 

In  two  days  the  abscess  broke  of  its  own  accord  and 
Zadig  was  perfectly  cured.  Hermes  wrote  a  book  to  prove 
that  it  ought  not  to  have  been  cured.  Zadig  did  not  read 
it;  but,  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  go  abroad,  he  went  to 
pay  a  visit  to  her  in  whom  all  his  hopes  of  happiness  were 
centered,  and  for  whose  sake  alone  he  wished  to  have 
eyes.  Semira  had  been  in  the  country  for  three  days  past. 
He  learned  on  the  road  that  that  fine  lady,  having  openly 

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declared  that  she  had  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  one- 
eyed  men,  had  the  night  before  given  her  hand  to  Orcan. 
At  this  news  he  fell  speechless  to  the  ground.  His  sorrow 
brought  him  almost  to  the  brink  of  the  grave.  He  was 
long  indisposed ;  but  reason  at  last  got  the  better  of  his 
affliction,  and  the  severity  of  his  fate  served  to  console  him. 

"  Since,''  said  he,  I  have  suffered  so  much  from  the 
cruel  caprice  of  a  woman  educated  at  court,  I  must  now 
think  of  marrying  the  daughter  of  a  citizen."  He  pitched 
upon  Azora,  a  lady  of  the  greatest  prudence,  and  of  the 
best  family  in  town.  He  married  her  and  lived  with  her 
for  three  months  in  all  the  delights  of  the  most  tender 
union.  He  only  observed  that  she  had  a  little  levity;  and 
was  too  apt  to  find  that  those  young  men  who  had  the 
most  handsome  persons  were  likewise  possessed  of  most 
wit  and  virtue. 

THE  NOSE 

One  morning  Azora  returned  from  a  walk  in  a  ter- 
rible passion,  and  uttering  the  most  violent  exclamations. 
''What  aileth  thee,"  said  he,  ''my  dear  spouse?  What  is 
it  that  can  thus  have  discomposed  thee?" 

"  Alas,"  said  she,  "  thou  wouldst  be  as  much  enraged 
as  I  am  hadst  thou  seen  what  I  have  just  beheld.  I  have 
been  to  comfort  the  young  widow  Cosrou,  who,  within 
these  two  days,  hath  raised  a  tomb  to  her  young  husband, 
near  the  rivulet  that  washes  the  skirts  of  this  meadow. 
She  vowed  to  heaven,  in  the  bitterness  of  her  grief,  to  re- 
main at  this  tomb  while  the  water  of  the  rivulet  should 
continue  to  run  near  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Zadig,  "  she  is  an  excellent  woman,  and 
loved  her  husband  with  the  most  sincere  affection." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Azora,  "  didst  thou  but  know  in  what  she 
was  employed  when  I  went  to  wait  upon  her !  " 

"  In  what,  pray,  beautiful  Azora?  Was  she  turning  the 
course  of  the  rivulet?" 

Azora  broke  out  into  such  long  invectives  and  loaded 
the  young  widow  with  such  bitter  reproaches,  that  Zadig 

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was  far  from  being  pleased  with  this  ostentation  of 
virtue. 

Zadig  had  a  friend  named  Cador,  one  of  those  young 
men  in  whom  his  wife  discovered  more  probity  and  merit 
than  in  others.  He  made  him  his  confidant,  and  secured 
his  fideHty  as  much  as  possible  by  a  considerable  present. 
Azora,  having  passed  two  days  with  a  friend  in  the  coun- 
try, returned  home  on  the  third.  The  servants  told  her, 
with  tears  in  their  eyes,  that  her  husband  died  suddenly 
the  night  before;  that  they  were  afraid  to  send  her  an 
account  of  this  mournful  event;  and  that  they  had  just 
been  depositing  his  corpse  in  the  tomb  of  his  ancestors, 
at  the  end  of  the  garden.  She  wept,  she  tore  her  hair, 
and  swore  she  would  follow  him  to  the  grave. 

In  the  evening  Cador  begged  leave  to  wait  upon  her, 
and  joined  his  tears  with  hers.  Next  day  they  wept  less, 
and  dined  together.  Cador  told  her  that  his  friend  had 
left  him  the  greatest  part  of  his  estate;  and  that  he  should 
think  himself  extremely  happy  in  sharing  his  fortune  with 
her.  The  lady  wept,  fell  into  a  passion,  and  at  last  be- 
came more  mild  and  gentle.  They  sat  longer  at  supper 
than  at  dinner.  They  now  talked  with  greater  confidence. 
Azora  praised  the  deceased;  but  owned  that  he  had  many 
failings  from  which  Cador  was  free. 

During  supper  Cador  complained  of  a  violent  pain  in 
his  side.  The  lady,  greatly  concerned,  and  eager  to  serve 
him,  caused  all  kinds  of  essences  to  be  brought,  with  which 
she  anointed  him,  to  try  if  some  of  them  might  not  pos- 
sibly ease  him  of  his  pain.  She  lamented  that  the  great 
Hermes  was  not  still  in  Babylon.  She  even  condescended 
to  touch  the  side  in  which  Cador  felt  such  exquisite  pain. 

"Art  thou  subject  to  this  cruel  disorder?"  said  she  to 
him  with  a  compassionate  air. 

"  It  sometimes  brings  me,"  replied  Cador,  "  to  the  brink 
of  the  grave;  and  there  is  but  one  remedy  that  can  give 
me  relief,  and  that  is  to  apply  to  my  side  the  nose  of  a 
man  who  is  lately  dead." 

"  A  strange  remedy,  indeed !  "  said  Azora. 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

Not  more  strange,"  replied  he,  "  than  the  sachels  of 
Arnon  against  the  apoplexy."  This  reason,  added  to  the 
great  merit  of  the  young  man,  at  last  determined  the 
lady. 

"  After  all,"  says  she,  "  when  my  husband  shall  cross  the 
bridge  Tchinavar,  in  his  journey  to  the  other  world,  the 
angel  Asrael  will  not  refuse  him  a  passage  because  his 
nose  is  a  little  shorter  in  the  second  life  than  it  was  in  the 
first."  She  then  took  a  razor,  went  to  her  husband's  tomb, 
bedewed  it  with  her  tears,  and  drew  near  to  cut  oflf  the 
nose  of  Zadig,  whom  she  found  extended  at  full  length 
in  the  tomb.  Zadig  arose,  holding  his  nose  with  one  hand, 
and,  putting  back  the  razor  with  the  other,  Madam,"  said 
he,  "  don't  exclaim  so  violently  against  young  Cosrou ;  the 
project  of  cutting  off  my  nose  is  equal  to  that  of  turning 
the  course  of  a  rivulet." 

THE  DOG  AND  THE  HORSE 

Zadig  found  by  experience  that  the  first  month  of  mar- 
riage, as  it  is  written  in  the  book  of  Zend,  is  the  moon 
of  honey,  and  that  the  second  is  the  moon  of  wormwood. 
He  was  some  time  after  obliged  to  repudiate  Azora,  who 
became  too  difficult  to  be  pleased;  and  he  then  sought 
for  happiness  in  the  study  of  nature.  "  No  man,"  said  he, 
"  can  be  happier  than  a  philosopher  who  reads  in  this  great 
book  which  God  hath  placed  before  our  eyes.  The  truths 
he  discovers  are  his  own,  he  nourishes  and  exalts  his  soul ; 
he  lives  in  peace ;  he  fears  nothing  from  men ;  and  his  ten- 
der spouse  will  not  come  to  cut  off  his  nose." 

Possessed  of  these  ideas  he  retired  to  a  country  house 
on  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates.  There  he  did  not  employ 
himself  in  calculating  how  many  inches  of  water  flow  in 
a  second  of  time  under  the  arches  of  a  bridge,  or  whether 
there  fell  a  cube  line  of  rain  in  the  month  of  the  Mouse 
more  than  in  the  month  of  the  Sheep.  He  never  dreamed 
of  making  silk  of  cobwebs,  or  porcelain  of  broken  bottles ; 
but  he  chiefly  studied  the  properties  of  plants  and  animals ; 

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Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

and  soon  acquired  a  sagacity  that  made  him  discover  a 
thousand  differences  where  other  men  see  nothing  but 
uniformity. 

One  day,  as  he  was  walking  near  a  little  wood,  he  saw 
one  of  the  queen's  eunuchs  running  toward  him,  followed 
by  several  officers,  who  appeared  to  be  in  great  perplexity, 
and  who  ran  to  and  fro  like  men  distracted,  eagerly  search- 
ing for  something  they  had  lost  of  great  value.  Young 
man,"  said  the  first  eunuch,  hast  thou  seen  the  queen's 
dog?  "  "  It  is  a  female,"  repHed  Zadig.  Thou  art  in  the 
right,"  returned  the  first  eunuch.  "  It  is  a  very  small  she 
spaniel,"  added  Zadig;  "  she  has  lately  whelped;  she  limps 
on  the  left  forefoot,  and  has  very  long  ears."  Thou  hast 
seen  her,"  said  the  first  eunuch,  quite  out  of  breath.  No," 
repHed  Zadig,  I  have  not  seen  her,  nor  did  I  so  much  as 
know  that  the  queen  had  a  dog." 

Exactly  at  the  same  time,  by  one  of  the  common  freaks 
of  fortune,  the  finest  horse  in  the  king's  stable  had  escaped 
from  the  jockey  in  the  plains  of  Babylon.  The  principal 
huntsman  and  all  the  other  officers  ran  after  him  with  as 
much  eagerness  and  anxiety  as  the  first  eunuch  had  done 
after  the  spaniel.  The  principal  huntsman  addressed  him- 
self to  Zadig,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  not  seen  the  king's 
horse  passing  by.  He  is  the  fleetest  horse  in  the  king's 
stable,"  replied  Zadig; he  is  five  feet  high,  with  very  small 
hoofs,  and  a  tail  three  feet  and  a  half  in  length ;  the  studs 
on  his  bit  are  gold  of  twenty-three  carats,  and  his  shoes 
are  silver  of  eleven  pennyweights."  What  way  did  he 
take  ?  where  is  he  ?  "  demanded  the  chief  huntsman.  "  I 
have  not  seen  him,"  repHed  Zadig,  "  and  never  heard  talk 
of  him  before." 

The  principal  huntsman  and  the  first  eunuch  never 
doubted  but  that  Zadig  had  stolen  the  king's  horse  and  the 
queen's  spaniel.  They  therefore  had  him  conducted  before 
the  assembly  of  the  grand  desterham,  who  condemned  him 
to  the  knout,  and  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  in  Siberia. 
Hardly  was  the  sentence  passed  when  the  horse  and  the 
spaniel  were  both  found.   The  judges  were  reduced  to  the 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

disagreeable  necessity  of  reversing  their  sentence ;  but  they 
condemned  Zadig  to  pay  four  hundred  ounces  of  gold  for 
having  said  that  he  had  not  seen  what  he  had  seen.  This 
fine  he  was  obliged  to  pay ;  after  which  he  was  permitted 
to  plead  his  cause  before  the  counsel  of  the  grand  dester- 
ham,  when  he  spoke  to  the  following  effect : 

"  Ye  stars  of  justice,  abyss  of  sciences,  mirrors  of  truth, 
who  have  the  weight  of  lead,  the  hardness  of  iron,  the 
splendor  of  the  diamond,  and  many  properties  of  gold: 
Since  I  am  permitted  to  speak  before  this  august  assembly, 
I  swear  to  you  by  Oramades  that  I  have  never  seen  the 
queen's  respectable  spaniel,  nor  the  sacred  horse  of  the 
king  of  kings.  The  truth  of  the  matter  was  as  follows :  I 
w^as  walking  toward  the  little  wood,  where  I  afterwards 
met  the  venerable  eunuch,  and  the  most  illustrious  chief 
huntsman.  I  observed  on  the  sand  the  traces  of  an  ani- 
mal, and  could  easily  perceive  them  to  be  those  of  a  little 
dog.  The  light  and  long  furrows  impressed  on  little  emi- 
nences of  sand  between  the  marks  of  the  paws  plainly  dis- 
covered that  it  was  a  female,  whose  dugs  were  hanging 
down,  and  that  therefore  she  must  have  whelped  a  few  days 
before.  Other  traces  of  a  dififerent  kind,  that  always  ap- 
peared to  have  gently  brushed  the  surface  of  the  sand  near 
the  marks  of  the  forefeet,  showed  me  that  she  had  very  long 
ears;  and  as  I  remarked  that  there  was  always  a  slighter 
impression  made  on  the  sand  by  one  foot  than  the  other 
three,  I  found  that  the  spaniel  of  our  august  queen  was  a 
little  lame,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression. 

"  With  regard  to  the  horse  of  the  king  of  kings,  you 
will  be  pleased  to  know  that,  walking  in  the  lanes  of  this 
wood,  I  observed  the  marks  of  a  horse's  shoes,  all  at  equal 
distances.  This  must  be  a  horse,  said  I  to  myself,  that 
gallops  excellently.  The  dust  on  the  trees  in  the  road 
that  was  but  seven  feet  wide  was  a  little  brushed  off,  at  the 
distance  of  three  feet  and  a  half  from  the  middle  of  the 
road.  This  horse,  said  I,  has  a  tail  three  feet  and  a  half 
long,  which  being  whisked  to  the  right  and  left,  has  swept 
away  the  dust.    I  observed  under  the  trees  that  formed 

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Frangois  Marie  Aroiiet  de  Voltaire 

an  arbor  five  feet  in  height,  that  the  leaves  of  the  branches 
were  newly  fallen ;  from  whence  I  inferred  that  the  horse 
had  touched  them,  and  that  he  must  therefore  be  five  feet 
high.  As  to  his  bit,  it  must  be  gold  of  twenty-three  carats, 
for  he  had  rubbed  its  bosses  against  a  stone  which  I  knew 
to  be  a  touchstone,  and  which  I  have  tried.  In  a  word, 
from  the  marks  made  by  his  shoes  on  flints  of  another  kind, 
I  concluded  that  he  was  shod  with  silver  eleven  deniers 
fine." 

All  the  judges  admired  Zadig  for  his  acute  and  profound 
discernment.  The  news  of  this  speech  was  carried  even 
to  the  king  and  queen.  Nothing  was  talked  of  but  Zadig 
in  the  antichambers,  the  chambers,  and  the  cabinet ;  and 
though  many  of  the  magi  were  of  opinion  that  he  ought 
to  be  burned  as  a  sorcerer,  the  king  ordered  his  officers 
to  restore  him  the  four  hundred  ounces  of  gold  which  he 
had  been  obliged  to  pay.  The  register,  the  attorneys,  and 
bailiffs,  went  to  his  house  with  great  formality,  to  carry 
him  back  his  four  hundred  ounces.  They  only  retained 
three  hundred  and  ninety-eight  of  them  to  defray  the  ex- 
penses of  justice ;  and  their  servants  demanded  their  fees. 

Zadig  saw  how  extremely  dangerous  it  sometimes  is 
to  appear  too  knowing,  and  therefore  resolved  that  on 
the  next  occasion  of  the  like  nature  he  would  not  tell  what 
he  had  seen. 

Such  an  opportunity  soon  offered.  A  prisoner  of  state 
made  his  escape,  and  passed  under  the  window  of  Zadig's 
house.  Zadig  was  examined  and  made  no  answer.  But  it 
was  proved  that  he  had  looked  at  the  prisoner  from  this 
window.  For  this  crime  he  was  condemned  to  pay  five 
hundred  ounces  of  gold ;  and,  according  to  the  polite  cus- 
tom of  Babylon,  he  thanked  his  judges  for  their  indul- 
gence. 

Great  God ! "  said  he  to  himself,  "  what  a  misfortune 
it  is  to  walk  in  a  wood  through  which  the  queen's  spaniel 
or  the  king's  horse  has  passed!  how  dangerous  to  look 
out  at  a  window!  and  how  difficult  to  be  happy  in  this 
life !  " 

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French  Mystery  Stories 


THE  ENVIOUS  MAN 

Zadig  resolved  to  comfort  himself  by  philosophy  and 
friendship  for  the  evils  he  had  suffered  from  fortune.  He 
had  in  the  suburbs  of  Babylon  a  house  elegantly  furnished, 
in  which  he  assembled  all  the  arts  and  all  the  pleasures 
worthy  the  pursuit  of  a  gentleman.  In  the  morning  his 
library  was  open  to  the  learned.  In  the  evening  his  table 
was  surrounded  by  good  company.  But  he  soon  found 
what  very  dangerous  guests  these  men  of  letters  are. 
A  warm  dispute  arose  on  one  of  Zoroaster's  laws,  which 
forbids  the  eating  of  a  griffin.  Why,''  said  some  of 
them,  prohibit  the  eating  of  a  griffin,  if  there  is  no 
such  an  animal  in  nature  ? "  There  must  necessarily 
be  such  an  animal,"  said  the  others,  since  Zoroaster 
forbids  us  to  eat  it."  Zadig  would  fain  have  reconciled 
them  by  saying,  If  there  are  no  griffins,  we  cannot 
possibly  eat  them;  and  thus  either  way  we  shall  obey 
Zoroaster." 

A  learned  man  who  had  composed  thirteen  volumes  on 
the  properties  of  the  griffin,  and  was  besides  the  chief 
theurgite,  hastened  away  to  accuse  Zadig  before  one  of 
the  principal  magi,  named  Yebor,  the  greatest  blockhead 
and  therefore  the  greatest  fanatic  among  the  Chaldeans. 
This  man  would  have  impaled  Zadig  to  do  honors  to  the 
sun,  and  would  then  have  recited  the  breviary  of  Zoroaster 
with  greater  satisfaction.  The  friend  Cador  (a  friend  is 
better  than  a  hundred  priests)  went  to  Yebor,  and  said  to 
him,  "  Long  live  the  sun  and  the  griffins ;  beware  of  pun- 
ishing Zadig;  he  is  a  saint;  he  has  griffins  in  his  inner 
court  and  does  not  eat  them ;  and  his  accuser  is  an  heretic, 
who  dares  to  maintain  that  rabbits  have  cloven  feet  and 
are  not  unclean." 

Well,"  said  Yebor,  shaking  his  bald  pate,  "  we  must 
impale  Zadig  for  having  thought  contemptuously  of  grif- 
fins, and  the  other  for  having  spoken  disrespectfully  of  rab- 
bits."   Cador  hushed  up  the  affair  by  means  of  a  maid  of 

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Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

honor  with  whom  he  had  a  love  affair,  and  who  had  great 
interest  in  the  College  of  the  Magi.   Nobody  was  impaled. 

This  levity  occasioned  a  great  murmuring  among  some 
of  the  doctors,  who  from  thence  predicted  the  fall  of  Baby- 
lon.   "  Upon  what  does  happiness  depend  ?     said  Zadig. 

I  am  persecuted  by  everything  in  the  world,  even  on  ac- 
count of  beings  that  have  no  existence. He  cursed  those 
men  of  learning,  and  resolved  for  the  future  to  live  with 
none  but  good  company. 

He  assembled  at  his  house  the  most  worthy  men  and  the 
most  beautiful  ladies  of  Babylon.  He  gave  them  deHcious 
suppers,  often  preceded  by  concerts  of  music,  and  alw^ays 
animated  by  polite  conversation,  from  which  he  knew  how 
to  banish  that  affectation  of  wit  which  is  the  surest  method 
of  preventing  it  entirely,  and  of  spoiHng  the  pleasure  of 
the  most  agreeable  society.  Neither  the  choice  of  his 
friends,  nor  that  of  the  dishes  was  made  by  vanity;  for 
in  everything  he  preferred  the  substance  to  the  shadow ; 
and  by  these  means  he  procured  that  real  respect  to  which 
he  did  not  aspire. 

Opposite  to  his  house  lived  one  Arimazes,  a  man  whose 
deformed  countenance  was  but  a  faint  picture  of  his  still 
more  deformed  mind.  His  heart  was  a  mixture  of  malice, 
pride,  and  envy.  Having  never  been  able  to  succeed  in 
any  of  his  undertakings,  he  revenged  himself  on  all  around 
him  by  loading  them  with  the  blackest  calumnies.  Rich 
as  he  was,  he  found  it  difficult  to  procure  a  set  of  flatterers. 
The  rattling  of  the  chariots  that  entered  Zadig's  court  in 
the  evening  filled  him  with  uneasiness ;  the  sound  of  his 
praises  enraged  him  still  more.  He  sometimes  went  to 
Zadig's  house,  and  sat  down  at  table  without  being  de- 
sired; where  he  spoiled  all  the  pleasure  of  the  company, 
as  the  harpies  are  said  to  infect  the  viands  they  touch.  It 
happened  that  one  day  he  took  it  in  his  head  to  give  an 
entertainment  to  a  lady,  who,  instead  of  accepting  it,  went 
to  sup  with  Zadig.  At  another  time,  as  he  was  talking 
with  Zadig  at  court,  a  minister  of  state  came  up  to  them, 
and  invited  Zadig  to  supper  v/ithout  inviting  Arimazes. 


French  Mystery  Stories 

The  most  implacable  hatred  has  seldom  a  more  solid  foun- 
dation. This  man,  who  in  Babylon  was  called  the  Envious, 
resolved  to  ruin  Zadig  because  he  was  called  the  Happy. 

The  opportunity  of  doing  mischief  occurs  a  hundred 
times  in  a  day,  and  that  of  doing  good  but  once  a  year," 
as  sayeth  the  wise  Zoroaster. 

The  envious  man  went  to  see  Zadig,  who  was  walking  in 
his  garden  with  two  friends  and  a  lady,  to  whom  he  said 
many  gallant  things,  without  any  other  intention  than  that 
of  saying  them.  The  conversation  turned  upon  a  war 
which  the  king  had  just  brought  to  a  happy  conclusion 
against  the  prince  of  Hircania,  his  vassal.  Zadig,  who  had 
signalized  his  courage  in  this  short  war,  bestowed  great 
praises  on  the  king,  but  greater  still  on  the  lady.  He  took 
out  his  pocketbook,  and  wrote  four  lines  extempore,  which 
he  gave  to  this  amiable  person  to  read.  His  friends  begged 
they  might  see  them ;  but  modesty,  or  rather  a  well-regu- 
lated self  love,  would  not  allow  him  to  grant  their  request. 
He  knew  that  extemporary  verses  are  never  approved  of 
by  any  but  by  the  person  in  whose  honor  they  are  written. 
He  therefore  tore  in  two  the  leaf  on  which  he  had  wrote 
them,  and  threw  both  the  pieces  into  a  thicket  of  rose- 
bushes, where  the  rest  of  the  company  sought  for  them  in 
vain.  A  slight  shower  falling  soon  after  obHged  them  to 
return  to  the  house.  The  envious  man,  who  stayed  in  the 
garden,  continued  the  search  till  at  last  he  found  a  piece 
of  the  leaf.  It  had  been  torn  in  such  a  manner  that  each 
half  of  a  line  formed  a  complete  sense,  and  even  a  verse 
of  a  shorter  measure ;  but  what  was  still  more  surprising, 
these  short  verses  were  found  to  contain  the  most  injurious 
reflections  on  the  king.   They  ran  thus : 

To  flagrant  crimes. 

His  crown  he  owes, 
To  peaceful  times. 

The  worst  of  foes. 

The  envious  man  was  now  happy  for  the  first  time  of 
his  life.   He  had  it  in  his  power  to  ruin  a  person  of  virtue 

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Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

and  merit.  Filled  with  this  fiendlike  joy,  he  found  means 
to  convey  to  the  king  the  satire  written  by  the  hand  of 
Zadig,  who,  together  with  the  lady  and  his  two  friends, 
was  thrown  into  prison. 

His  trial  was  soon  finished,  without  his  being  permitted 
to  speak  for  himself.  As  he  was  going  to  receive  his  sen- 
tence, the  envious  man  threw  himself  in  his  way  and  told 
him  with  a  loud  voice  that  his  verses  were  good  for  noth- 
ing. Zadig  did  not  value  himself  on  being  a  good  poet; 
but  it  filled  him  with  inexpressible  concern  to  find  that  he 
was  condemned  for  high  treason;  and  that  the  fair  lady 
and  his  two  friends  were  confined  in  prison  for  a  crime  of 
which  they  were  not  guilty.  He  was  not  allowed  to  speak 
because  his  writing  spoke  for  him.  Such  was  the  law  of 
Babylon.  Accordingly  he  was  conducted  to  the  place 
of  execution,  through  an  immense  crowd  of  spectators, 
who  durst  not  venture  to  express  their  pity  for  him, 
but  who  carefully  examined  his  countenance  to  see  if  he 
died  with  a  good  grace.  His  relations  alone  were  incon- 
solable, for  they  could  not  succeed  to  his  estate.  Three 
fourths  of  his  wealth  were  confiscated  into  the  king's 
treasury,  and  the  other  fourth  was  given  to  the  envious 
man. 

Just  as  he  was  preparing  for  death  the  king's  parrot 
flew  from  its  cage  and  aHghted  on  a  rosebush  in  Zadig's 
garden.  A  peach  had  been  driven  thither  by  the  wind 
from  a  neighboring  tree,  and  had  fallen  on  a  piece  of  the 
written  leaf  of  the  pocketbook  to  which  it  stuck.  The 
bird  carried  off  the  peach  and  the  paper  and  laid  them  on 
the  king's  knee.  The  king  took  up  the  paper  with  great 
eagerness  and  read  the  words,  which  formed  no  sense,  and 
seemed  to  be  the  endings  of  verses.  He  loved  poetry; 
and  there  is  always  some  mercy  to  be  expected  from  a 
prince  of  that  disposition.  The  adventure  of  the  parrot 
set  him  a-thinking. 

The  queen,  who  remembered  what  had  been  written  on 
the  piece  of  Zadig's  pocketbook,  caused  it  to  be  brought. 
They  compared  the  two  pieces  together  and  found  them 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

to  tally  exactly;  they  then  read  the  verses  as  Zadig  had 
wrote  them. 

TYRANTS  ARE  PRONE  TO  FLAGRANT  CRIMES. 

TO  CLEMENCY  HIS  CROWN  HE  OWES. 

TO  CONCORD  AND  TO  PEACEFUL  TIMES. 

LOVE  ONLY  IS  THE  WORST  OF  FOES. 

The  king  gave  immediate  orders  that  Zadig  should  be 
brought  before  him,  and  that  his  two  friends  and  the  lady 
should  be  set  at  liberty.  Zadig  fell  prostrate  on  the  ground 
before  the  king  and  queen;  humbly  begged  their  pardon 
for  having  made  such  bad  verses  and  spoke  with  so  much 
propriety,  wit,  and  good  sense,  that  their  majesties  desired 
they  might  see  him  again.  He  did  himself  that  honor, 
and  insinuated  himself  still  farther  into  their  good  graces. 
They  gave  him  all  the  wealth  of  the  envious  man;  but 
Zadig  restored  him  back  the  whole  of  it.  And  this  in- 
stance of  generosity  gave  no  other  pleasure  to  the  envious 
man  than  that  of  having  preserved  his  estate. 

The  king's  esteem  for  Zadig  increased  every  day.  He 
admitted  him  into  all  his  parties  of  pleasure,  and  consulted 
him  in  all  affairs  of  state.  From  that  time  the  queen  be- 
gan to  regard  him  with  an  eye  of  tenderness  that  might 
one  day  prove  dangerous  to  herself,  to  the  king,  her  august 
comfort,  to  Zadig,  and  to  the  kingdom  in  general.  Zadig 
now  began  to  think  that  happiness  was  not  so  unattainable 
as  he  had  formerly  imagined. 


THE  GENEROUS 

The  time  now  arrived  for  celebrating  a  grand  festival, 
which  returned  every  five  years.  It  was  a  custom  in 
Babylon  solemnly  to  declare  at  the  end  of  every  five  years 
which  of  the  citizens  had  performed  the  most  generous  ac- 
tion. The  grandees  and  the  magi  were  the  judges.  The 
first  satrap,  who  was  charged  with  the  government  of  the 
city,  published  the  most  noble  actions  that  had  passed  un- 

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Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

der  his  administration.  The  competition  was  decided  by 
votes;  and  the  king  pronounced  the  sentence.  People 
came  to  this  solemnity  from  the  extremities  of  the  earth. 
The  conqueror  received  from  the  monarch's  hand  a  golden 
cup  adorned  with  precious  stones,  his  majesty  at  the  same 
time  making  him  this  compliment : 

Receive  this  reward  of  thy  generosity,  and  may  the 
gods  grant  me  many  subjects  like  to  thee.'' 

This  memorable  day  being  come,  the  king  appeared  on 
his  throne,  surrounded  by  the  grandees,  the  magi,  and  the 
deputies  of  all  nations  that  came  to  these  games,  where 
glory  was  acquired  not  by  the  swiftness  of  horses,  nor  by 
strength  of  body,  but  by  virtue.  The  first  satrap  recited, 
with  an  audible  voice,  such  actions  as  might  entitle  the 
authors  of  them  to  this  invaluable  prize.  He  did  not  men- 
tion the  greatness  of  soul  with  which  Zadig  had  restored 
the  envious  man  his  fortune,  because  it  was  not  judged 
to  be  an  action  worthy  of  disputing  the  prize. 

He  first  presented  a  judge  who,  having  made  a  citizen 
lose  a  considerable  cause  by  a  mistake,  for  which,  after 
all,  he  was  not  accountable,  had  given  him  the  whole  of  his 
own  estate,  which  was  just  equal  to  what  the  other  had 
lost. 

He  next  produced  a  young  man  who,  being  desperately 
in  love  with  a  lady  whom  he  was  going  to  marry,  had 
yielded  her  up  to  his  friend,  whose  passion  for  her  had 
almost  brought  him  to  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  at  the 
same  time  had  given  him  the  lady's  fortune. 

He  afterwards  produced  a  soldier  who,  in  the  v/ars  of 
Hircania,  had  given  a  still  more  noble  instance  of  gen- 
erosity. A  party  of  the  enemy  having  seized  his  mistress, 
he  fought  in  her  defense  with  great  intrepidity.  At  that 
very  instant  he  was  informed  that  another  party,  at  the 
distance  of  a  few  paces,  were  carrying  oflf  his  mother;  he 
therefore  left  his  mistress  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  flew 
to  the  assistance  of  his  mother.  At  last  he  returned  to  the 
dear  object  of  his  love  and  found  her  expiring.  He  was 
just  going  to  plunge  his  sword  in  his  own  bosom;  but  his 

215 


French  Mystery  Stories 

mother  remonstrating  against  such  a  desperate  deed,  and 
telHng  him  that  he  was  the  only  support  of  her  life,  he  had 
the  courage  to  endure  to  live. 

The  judges  were  inclined  to  give  the  prize  to  the  sol- 
dier. But  the  king  took  up  the  discourse  and  said:  ''The 
action  of  the  soldier,  and  those  of  the  other  two,  are 
doubtless  very  great,  but  they  have  nothing  in  them  sur- 
prising. Yesterday  Zadig  performed  an  action  that  filled 
me  with  wonder.  I  had  a  few  days  before  disgraced  Coreb, 
my  minister  and  favorite.  I  complained  of  him  in  the  most 
violent  and  bitter  terms;  all  my  courtiers  assured  me  that  I 
was  too  gentle  and  seemed  to  vie  with  each  other  in  speak- 
ing ill  of  Coreb.  I  asked  Zadig  what  he  thought  of  him, 
and  he  had  the  courage  to  commend  him.  I  have  read  in 
our  histories  of  many  people  who  have  atoned  for  an  error 
by  the  surrender  of  their  fortune ;  who  have  resigned  a 
mistress ;  or  preferred  a  mother  to^  the  object  of  their 
aft'ection ;  but  never  before  did  I  hear  of  a  courtier  who 
spoke  favorably  of  a  disgraced  minister  that  labored  un- 
der the  displeasure  of  his  sovereign.  I  give  to  each  of 
those  whose  generous  actions  have  been  now  recited 
twenty  thousand  pieces  of  gold;  but  the  cup  I  give  to 
Zadig." 

May  it  please  your  majesty,''  said  Zadig, ''  thyself  alone 
deservest  the  cup;  thou  hast  performed  an  action  of  all 
others  the  most  uncommon  and  meritorious,  since,  not- 
withstanding thy  being  a  powerful  king,  thou  wast  not  of- 
fended at  thy  slave  when  he  presumed  to  oppose  thy 
passion.''  The  king  and  Zadig  were  equally  the  object  of 
admiration.  The  judge,  who  had  given  his  estate  to  his 
client ;  the  lover,  who  had  resigned  his  mistress  to  a  friend ; 
and  the  soldier,  who  had  preferred  the  safety  of  his  mother  * 
to  that  of  his  mistress,  received  the  king's  presents  and 
saw  their  names  enrolled  m  the  catalogue  of  generous  men. 
Zadig  had  the  cup,  and  the  king  acquired  the  reputation  of 
a  good  prince,  which  he  did  not  long  enjoy.  The  day  was 
celebrated  by  feasts  that  lasted  longer  than  the  law  en- 
joined; and  the  memory  of  it  is  still  preserved  in  Asia. 

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Frangois  Marie  Aroiiet  de  Voltaire 

Zadig  said,  Now  I  am  happy  at  last but  he  found  him- 
self fatally  deceived. 

THE  MINISTER 

The  king  had  lost  his  first  minister  and  chose  Zadig  to 
supply  his  place.  All  the  ladies  in  Babylon  applauded  the 
choice;  for  since  the  foundation  of  the  empire  there  had 
never  been  such  a  young  minister.  But  all  the  court- 
iers were  filled  with  jealousy  and  vexation.  The  envious 
man  in  particular  was  troubled  with  a  spitting  of  blood 
and  a  prodigious  inflammation  in  his  nose.  Zadig,  having 
thanked  the  king  and  queen  for  their  goodness,  went  like- 
wise to  thank  the  parrot.  Beautiful  bird,''  said  he,  'tis 
thou  that  hast  saved  my  life  and  made  me  first  minister. 
The  queen's  spaniel  and  the  king's  horse  did  me  a  great 
deal  of  mischief ;  but  thou  hast  done  me  much  good.  Upon 
such  slender  threads  as  these  do  the  fates  of  mortals  hang! 
But,"  added  he,  this  happiness  perhaps  will  vanish  very 
soon." 

Soon,"  replied  the  parrot. 

Zadig  was  somewhat  startled  at  this  word.  But  as  he 
was  a  good  natural  philosopher  and  did  not  believe  par- 
rots to  be  prophets,  he  quickly  recovered  his  spirits  and 
resolved  to  execute  his  duty  to  the  best  of  his  power. 

He  made  everyone  feel  the  sacred  authority  of  the  laws, 
but  no  one  felt  the  weight  of  his  dignity.  He  never 
checked  the  deliberation  of  the  diran ;  and  every  vizier 
might  give  his  opinion  without  the  fear  of  incurring  the 
minister's  displeasure.  When  he  gave  judgment,  it  w^as 
not  he  that  gave  it,  it  was  the  law;  the  rigor  of  which, 
however,  whenever  it  was  too  severe,  he  always  took  care 
to  soften ;  and  when  laws  were  wanting,  the  equity  of  his 
decisions  was  such  as  might  easily  have  made  them  pass 
for  those  of  Zoroaster.  It  is  to  him  that  the  nations  are 
indebted  for  this  grand  principle,  to  wit,  that  it  is  better 
to  run  the  risk  of  sparing  the  guilty  than  to  condemn  the 
innocent.  He  imagined  that  laws  were  made  as  well  to 
secure  the  people  from  the  suffering  of  injuries  as  to  re- 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

strain  them  from  the  commission  of  crimes.  His  chief 
talent  consisted  in  discovering  the  truth,  which  all  men 
seek  to  obscure. 

This  great  talent  he  put  in  practice  from  the  very  begin- 
ning of  his  administration.  A  famous  merchant  of  Baby- 
lon, who  died  in  the  Indies,  divided  his  estate  equally  be- 
tween his  two  sons,  after  having  disposed  of  their  sister 
in  marriage,  and  left  a  present  of  thirty  thousand  pieces 
of  gold  to  that  son  who  should  be  found  to  have  loved 
him  best.  The  eldest  raised  a  tomb  to  his  memory;  the 
youngest  increased  his  sister's  portion,  by  giving  her  part 
of  his  inheritance.  Everyone  said  that  the  eldest  son  loved 
his  father  best,  and  the  youngest  his  sister;  and  that  the 
thirty  thousand  pieces  belonged  to  the  eldest. 

Zadig  sent  for  both  of  them,  the  one  after  the  other. 
To  the  eldest  he  said :  "  Thy  father  is  not  dead ;  he  is  re- 
covered of  his  last  illness,  and  is  returning  to  Babylon.'^ 

God  be  praised,"  replied  the  young  man ;  "  but  his  tomb 
cost  me  a  considerable  sum.''  Zadig  afterwards  said  the 
same  to  the  youngest.  "  God  be  praised,''  said  he,  I  will 
go  and  restore  to  my  father  all  that  I  have ;  but  I  could 
wish  that  he  would  leave  my  sister  what  I  have  given  her." 

Thou  shalt  restore  nothing,"  replied  Zadig,  and  thou 
shalt  have  the  thirty  thousand  pieces,  for  thou  art  the  son 
who  loves  his  father  best." 

THE  DISPUTES  AND  THE  AUDIENCES 

In  this  manner  he  daily  discovered  the  subtilty  of  his 
genius  and  the  goodness  of  his  heart.  The  people  at  once 
admired  and  loved  him.  He  passed  for  the  happiest  man 
in  the  world.  The  whole  empire  resounded  with  his  name. 
All  the  ladies  ogled  him.  All  the  men  praised  him  for  his 
justice.  The  learned  regarded  him  as  an  oracle ;  and  even 
the  priests  confessed  that  he  knew  more  than  the  old  arch- 
magi  Yebor.  They  were  now  so  far  from  prosecuting  him 
on  account  of  the  griffin,  that  they  believed  nothing  but 
what  he  thought  credible. 

2l8 


Frangois  Marie  Arouef  de  Voltaire 

There  had  reigned  in  Babylon,  for  the  space  of  fifteen 
hundred  years,  a  violent  contest  that  had  divided  the  em- 
pire into  two  sects.  The  one  pretended  that  they  ought 
to  enter  the  temple  of  Mitra  with  the  left  foot  foremost; 
the  other  held  this  custom  in  detestation  and  always  en- 
tered with  the  right  foot  first.  The  people  waited  with 
great  impatience  for  the  day  on  which  the  solemn  feast  of 
the  sacred  fire  was  to  be  celebrated,  to  see  which  sect  Zadig 
w^ould  favor.  All  the  world  had  their  eyes  fixed  on  his  two 
feet,  and  the  whole  city  was  in  the  utmost  suspense  and 
perturbation.  Zadig  jumped  into  the  temple  with  his  feet 
joined  together,  and  afterwards  proved,  in  an  eloquent  dis- 
course, that  the  Sovereign  of  heaven  and  earth,  who  ac- 
cepted not  the  persons  of  men,  makes  no  distinction  be- 
tween the  right  and  left  foot.  The  envious  man  and  his 
wife  alleged  that  his  discourse  was  not  figurative  enough, 
and  that  he  did  not  make  the  rocks  and  mountains  to  dance 
with  sufficient  agility. 

He  is  dry,"  said  they,  "  and  void  of  genius ;  he  does  not 
make  the  flea  to  fly,  and  stars  to  fall,  nor  the  sun  to  melt 
wax ;  he  has  not  the  true  Oriental  style."  Zadig  contented 
himself  with  having  the  style  of  reason.  All  the  world  fa- 
vored him,  not  because  he  was  in  the  right  road  or  followed 
the  dictates  of  reason,  or  was  a  man  of  real  merit,  but  be- 
cause he  was  prime  vizier. 

He  terminated  with  the  same  happy  address  the  grand 
difference  between  the  white  and  the  black  magi.  The 
former  maintained  that  it  was  the  height  of  impiety  to  pray 
to  God  with  the  face  turned  toward  the  east  in  winter ;  the 
latter  asserted  that  God  abhorred  the  prayers  of  those  who 
turned  toward  the  west  in  summer.  Zadig  decreed  that 
every  man  should  be  allowed  to  turn  as  he  pleased. 

Thus  he  found  out  the  happy  secret  of  finishing  all  af- 
fairs, whether  of  a  private  or  public  nature,  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  rest  of  the  day  he  employed  in  superintending 
and  promoting  the  embellishments  of  Babylon.  He  ex- 
hibited tragedies  that  drew  tears  from  the  eyes  of  the  spec- 
tators, and  comedies  that  shook  their  sides  with  laughter ; 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

a  custom  which  had  long  been  disused,  and  which  his  good 
taste  now  induced  him  to  revive.  He  never  affected  to  be 
more  knowing  in  the  poHte  arts  than  the  artists  them- 
selves ;  he  encouraged  them  by  rewards  and  honors,  and 
was  never  jealous  of  their  talents.  In  the  evening  the  king 
was  highly  entertained  with  his  conversation,  and  the 
queen  still  more.  "  Great  minister !  said  the  king. 
"'Amiable  minister!"  said  the  queen;  and  both  of  them 
added,  "  It  would  have  been  a  great  loss  to  the  state  had 
such  a  man  been  hanged.'' 

Never  was  man  in  power  obliged  to  give  so  many  audi- 
ences to  the  ladies.  Most  of  them  came  to  consult  him 
about  no  business  at  all,  that  so  they  might  have  some 
business  with  him.   But  none  of  them  won  his  attention. 

Meanwhile  Zadig  perceived  that  his  thoughts  were  al- 
ways distracted,  as  well  when  he  gave  audience  as  when 
he  sat  in  judgment.  He  did  not  know  to  what  to  at- 
tribute this  absence  of  mind;  and  that  was  his  only  sorrow. 

He  had  a  dream  in  which  he  imagined  that  he  laid 
himself  down  upon  a  heap  of  dry  herbs,  among  which  there 
were  many  prickly  ones  that  gave  him  great  uneasiness, 
and  that  he  afterwards  reposed  himself  on  a  soft  bed  of 
roses  from  which  there  sprung  a  serpent  that  wounded  him 
to  the  heart  with  its  sharp  and  venomed  tongue.  Alas,'' 
said  he,  I  have  long  lain  on  these  dry  and  prickly  herbs, 
I  am  now  on  the  bed  of  roses;  but  what  shall  be  the  ser- 
pent?" 

JEALOUSY 

Zadig's  calamities  sprung  even  from  his  happiness  and 
especially  from  his  merit.  He  every  day  conversed  with 
the  king  and  Astarte,  his  august  comfort.  The  charms  of 
his  conversation  were  greatly  heightened  by  that  desire  of 
pleasing,  which  is  to  the  mind  what  dress  is  to  beauty. 
His  youth  and  graceful  appearance  insensibly  made  an  im- 
pression on  Astarte,  which  she  did  not  at  first  perceive. 
Her  passion  grew  and  flourished  in  the  bosom  of  innocence. 
Without  fear  or  scruple,  she  indulged  the  pleasing  satis- 

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Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

faction  of  seeing  and  hearing  a  man  who  was  so  dear  to 
her  husband  and  to  the  empire  in  general.  She  was  con- 
tinually praising  him  to  the  king.  She  talked  of  him  to 
her  women,  who  w^ere  always  sure  to  improve  on  her 
praises.  And  thus  everything  contributed  to  pierce  her 
heart  with  a  dart,  of  which  she  did  not  seem  to  be  sensible. 
She  made  several  presents  to  Zadig,  which  discovered  a 
greater  spirit  of  gallantry  than  she  imagined.  She  in- 
tended to  speak  to  him  only  as  a  queen  satisfied  with  his 
services  and  her  expressions  were  sometimes  those  of  a 
woman  in  love. 

Astarte  was  much  more  beautiful  than  that  Semira  who 
had  such  a  strong  aversion  to  one-eyed  men,  or  that  other 
woman  who  had  resolved  to  cut  ofif  her  husband's  nose. 
Her  unreserved  familiarity,  her  tender  expressions,  at 
which  she  began  to  blush;  and  her  eyes,  which,  though  she 
endeavored  to  divert  them  to  other  objects,  were  always 
fixed  upon  his,  inspired  Zadig  with  a  passion  that  filled 
him  with  astonishment.  He  struggled  hard  to  get  the 
better  of  it.  He  called  to  his  aid  the  precepts  of  phi- 
losophy, which  had  always  stood  him  in  stead;  but  from 
thence,  though  he  could  derive  the  light  of  knowledge,  he 
could  procure  no  remedy  to  cure  the  disorders  of  his  love- 
sick heart.  Duty,  gratitude,  and  violated  majesty  pre- 
sented themselves  to  his  mind  as  so  many  avenging  gods. 
He  struggled;  he  conquered;  but  this  victory,  which  he 
was  obliged  to  purchase  afresh  every  moment,  cost  him 
many  sighs  and  tears.  He  no  longer  dared  to  speak  to 
the  queen  with  that  sweet  and  charming  familiarity  which 
had  been  so  agreeable  to  them  both.  His  countenance  w^as 
covered  with  a  cloud.  His  conversation  was  constrained 
and  incoherent.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground;  and 
when,  in  spite  of  all  his  endeavors  to  the  contrary,  they 
encountered  those  of  the  queen,  they  found  them  bathed 
in  tears  and  darting  arrows  of  flame.  They  seemed  to 
say.  We  adore  each  other  and  yet  are  afraid  to  love;  we 
both  burn  with  a  fire  which  we  both  condemn. 

Zadig  left  the  royal  presence  full  of  perplexity  and 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

despair,  and  having  his  heart  oppressed  with  a  burden 
which  he  was  no  longer  able  to  bear.  In  the  violence 
of  his  perturbation  he  involuntarily  betrayed  the  secret  to 
his  friend  Cador,  in  the  same  manner  as  a  man  who,  hav- 
ing long  supported  the  fits  of  a  cruel  disease,  discovered 
his  pain  by  a  cry  extorted  from  him  by  a  more  severe 
fit  and  by  the  cold  sweat  that  covers  his  brow. 

I  have  already  discovered,"  said  Cador,  the  senti- 
ments which  thou  wouldst  fain  conceal  from  thyself.  The 
symptoms  by  which  the  passions  show  themselves  are  cer- 
tain and  infallible.  Judge,  my  dear  Zadig,  since  I  have 
read  thy  heart,  whether  the  king  will  not  discover  some- 
thing in  it  that  may  give  him  ofifense.  He  has  no  other 
fault  but  that  of  being  the  most  jealous  man  in  the  world. 
Thou  canst  resist  the  violence  of  thy  passion  with  greater 
fortitude  than  the  queen  because  thou  art  a  philosopher, 
and  because  thou  art  Zadig.  Astarte  is  a  woman:  she 
suffers  her  eyes  to  speak  w^th  so  much  the  more  impru- 
dence, as  she  does  not  as  yet  think  herself  guilty.  Con- 
scious of  her  innocence  she  unhappily  neglects  those 
external  appearances  which  are  so  necessary.  I  shall 
tremble  for  her  so  long  as  she  has  nothing  wherewithal 
to  reproach  herself.  Were  ye  both  of  one  mind,  ye  might 
easily  deceive  the  whole  world.  A  growing  passion,  which 
we  endeavor  to  suppress,  discovers  itself  in  spite  of  all  our 
efforts  to  the  contrary;  but  love,  when  gratified,  is  easily 
concealed.'' 

Zadig  trembled  at  the  proposal  of  betraying  the  king, 
his  benefactor;  and  never  was  he  more  faithful  to  his  prince 
than  when  guilty  of  an  involuntary  crime  against  him. 

Meanwhile  the  queen  mentioned  the  name  of  Zadig  so 
frequently  and  with  such  a  blushing  and  downcast  look; 
she  was  sometimes  so  lively  and  sometimes  so  perplexed 
when  she  spoke  to  him  in  the  king's  presence,  and  was 
seized  with  such  deep  thoughtfulness  at  his  going  away, 
that  the  king  began  to  be  troubled.  He  believed  all  that 
he  saw  and  imagined  all  that  he  did  not  see.  He  par- 
ticularly remarked  that  his  wife's  shoes  were  blue  and 

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Frangois  Marie  Aroiiet  de  Voltaire 

that  Zadig's  shoes  were  blue;  that  his  wife's  ribbons  were 
yellow  and  that  Zadig's  bonnet  was  yellow;  and  these  were 
terrible  symptoms  to  a  prince  of  so  much  delicacy.  In 
his  jealous  mind  suspicions  were  turned  into  certainty. 

All  the  slaves  of  kings  and  queens  are  so  many  spies 
over  their  hearts.  They  soon  observed  that  Astarte  was 
tender  and  that  Moabdar  was  jealous.  The  envious  man 
brought  false  report  to  the  king.  The  monarch  now 
thought  of  nothing  but  in  what  manner  he  might  best 
execute  his  vengeance.  He  one  night  resolved  to  poison 
the  queen  and  in  the  morning  to  put  Zadig  to  death  by 
the  bowstring.  The  orders  were  given  to  a  merciless 
eunuch,  who  commonly  executed  his  acts  of  vengeance. 
There  happened  at  that  time  to  be  in  the  king's  chamber 
a  little  dwarf,  w^ho,  though  dumb,  was  not  deaf.  He  was 
allowed,  on  account  of  his  insignificance,  to  go  wherever 
he  pleased,  and  as  a  domestic  animal,  was  a  witness  of 
what  passed  in  the  most  profound  secrecy.  This  little  mute 
was  strongly  attached  to  the  queen  and  Zadig.  With  equal 
horror  and  surprise  he  heard  the  cruel  orders  given.  But 
how  to  prevent  the  fatal  sentence  that  in  a  few  hours  was 
to  be  carried  into  execution!  He  could  not  write,  but  he 
could  paint;  and  excelled  particularly  in  drawing  a  strik- 
ing resemblance.  He  employed  a  part  of  the  night  in 
sketching  out  with  his  pencil  what  he  meant  to  impart  to 
the  queen.  The  piece  represented  the  king  in  one  cor- 
ner, boiling  with  rage,  and  giving  orders  to  the  eunuch; 
a  bowstring,  and  a  bowl  on  a  table;  the  queen  in  the 
middle  of  the  picture,  expiring  in  the  arms  of  her  woman, 
and  Zadig  strangled  at  her  feet.  The  horizon  represented 
a  rising  sun,  to  express  that  this  shocking  execution  was 
to  be  performed  in  the  morning.  As  soon  as  he  had  fin- 
ished the  picture  he  ran  to  one  of  Astarte's  women, 
awakened  her,  and  made  her  understand  that  she  must 
immediately  carry  it  to  the  queen. 

At  midnight  a  messenger  knocks  at  Zadig's  door, 
awakes  him,  and  gives  him  a  note  from  the  queen.  He 
doubts  whether  it  is  a  dream ;  and  opens  the  letter  with  a 

223 


French  Mystery  Stories 

trembling  hand.  But  how  great  was  his  surprise !  and  who 
can  express  the  consternation  and  despair  into  which  he 
was  thrown  upon  reading  these  words :  Fly  this  instant, 
or  thou  art  a  dead  man.  Fly,  Zadig,  I  conjure  thee  by  our 
mutual  love  and  my  yellow  ribbons.  I  have  not  been 
guilty,  but  I  find  I  must  die  Hke  a  criminal." 

Zadig  was  hardly  able  to  speak.  He  sent  for  Cador,  and, 
without  uttering  a  word,  gave  him  the  note.  Cador  forced 
him  to  obey,  and  forthwith  to  take  the  road  to  Memphis. 

Shouldst  thou  dare,"  said  he,  to  go  in  search  of  the 
queen,  thou  wilt  hasten  her  death.  Shouldst  thou  speak 
to  the  king,  thou  wilt  infallibly  ruin  her.  I  will  take  upon 
me  the  charge  of  her  destiny ;  follow  thy  own.  I  will 
spread  a  report  that  thou  hast  taken  the  road  to  India.  I 
will  soon  follow  thee,  and  inform  thee  of  all  that  shall  have 
passed  in  Babylon."  At  that  instant,  Cador  caused  two  of 
the  swiftest  dromedaries  to  be  brought  to  a  private  gate 
of  the  palace.  Upon  one  of  these  he  mounted  Zadig, 
whom  he  was  obliged  to  carry  to  the  door,  and  who  was 
ready  to  expire  with  grief.  He  was  accompanied  by  a 
single  domestic;  and  Cador,  plunged  in  sorrow  and  as- 
tonishment, soon  lost  sight  of  his  friend. 

This  illustrious  fugitive  arriving  on  the  side  of  a  hill, 
from  whence  he  could  take  a  view  of  Babylon,  turned  his 
eyes  toward  the  queen's  palace,  and  fainted  away  at  the 
sight ;  nor  did  he  recover  his  senses  but  to  shed  a  torrent 
of  tears  and  to  wish  for  death.  At  length,  after  his 
thoughts  had  been  long  engrossed  in  lamenting  the  un- 
happy fate  of  the  loveliest  woman  and  the  greatest  queen 
in  the  world,  he  for  a  moment  turned  his  views  on  him- 
self and  cried :  "  What  then  is  human  hfe  ?  O  virtue,  how 
hast  thou  served  me !  Two  women  have  basely  deceived 
me,  and  now  a  third,  who  is  innocent,  and  more  beautiful 
than  both  the  others,  is  going  to  be  put  to  death !  What- 
ever good  I  have  done  hath  been  to  me  a  continual  source 
of  calamity  and  affliction ;  and  I  have  only  been  raised  to 
the  height  of  grandeur,  to  be  tumbled  down  the  most  hor- 
rid precipice  of  misfortune."    Filled  with  these  gloomy 

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Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

reflections,  his  eyes  overspread  with  the  veil  of  grief,  his 
countenance  covered  with  the  paleness  of  death,  and  his 
soul  plunged  in  an  abyss  of  the  blackest  despair,  he  con- 
tinued his  journey  toward  Egypt. 

THE  WOMAN  BEATEN 

Zadig  directed  his  course  by  the  stars.  The  constel- 
lation of  Orion  and  the  splendid  Dog  Star  guided  his  steps 
toward  the  pole  of  Cassiopsea.  He  admired  those  vast 
globes  of  light,  which  appear  to  our  eyes  but  as  so  many 
little  sparks,  while  the  earth,  which  in  reality  is  only  an 
imperceptible  point  in  nature,  appears  to  our  fond  imagi- 
nations as  something  so  grand  and  noble. 

He  then  represented  to  himself  the  human  species  as 
it  really  is,  as  a  parcel  of  insects  devouring  one  another  on 
a  little  atom  of  clay.  This  true  image  seemed  to  annihilate 
his  misfortunes,  by  making  him  sensible  of  the  nothingness 
of  his  own  being,  and  of  that  of  Babylon.  His  soul 
launched  out  into  infinity,  and,  detached  from  the  senses, 
contemplated  the  immutable  order  of  the  universe.  But 
when  afterwards,  returning  to  himself,  and  entering  into 
his  own  heart,  he  considered  that  Astarte  had  perhaps  died 
for  him,  the  universe  vanished  from  his  sight,  and  he  be- 
held nothing  in  the  whole  compass  of  nature  but  Astarte 
expiring  and  Zadig  unhappy.  While  he  thus  alternately 
gave  up  his  mind  to  this  flux  and  reflux  of  sublime  philos- 
ophy and  intolerable  grief,  he  advanced  toward  the  fron- 
tiers of  Egypt;  and  his  faithful  domestic  was  already  in 
the  first  village,  in  search  of  a  lodging. 

Upon  reaching  the  village  Zadig  generously  took  the 
part  of  a  woman  attacked  by  her  jealous  lover.  The  com- 
bat grew  so  fierce  that  Zadig  slew  the  lover.  The  Egyp- 
tians were  then  just  and  humane.  The  people  conducted 
Zadig  to  the  town  house.  They  first  of  all  ordered  his 
wound  to  be  dressed,  and  then  examined  him  and  his  serv- 
ant apart,  in  order  to  discover  the  truth.  They  found  that 
Zadig  was  not  an  assassin ;  but  as  he  was  guilty  of  having 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

killed  a  man,  the  law  condemned  him  to  be  a  slave.  His 
two  camels  were  sold  for  the  benefit  of  the  town;  all  the 
gold  he  had  brought  with  him  was  distributed  among  the 
inhabitants ;  and  his  person,  as  well  as  that  of  the  com- 
panion of  his  journey,  was  exposed  to  sale  in  the  market- 
place. 

An  Arabian  merchant,  named  Setoc,  made  the  purchase ; 
but  as  the  servant  was  fitter  for  labor  than  the  master,  he 
was  sold  at  a  higher  price.  There  was  no  comparison  be- 
tween the  two  men.  Thus  Zadig  became  a  slave  subordi- 
nate to  his  own  servant.  They  were  linked  together  by  a 
chain  fastened  to  their  feet,  and  in  this  condition  they  fol- 
lowed the  Arabian  merchant  to  his  house. 

By  the  way  Zadig  comforted  his  servant,  and  exhorted 
him  to  patience ;  but  he  could  not  help  making,  according 
to  his  usual  custom,  some  reflections  on  human  hfe.  I 
see,"  said  he,  that  the  unhappiness  of  my  fate  hath  an  in- 
fluence on  thine.  Hitherto  everything  has  turned  out  to 
me  in  a  most  unaccountable  manner.  I  have  been  con- 
demned to  pay  a  fine  for  having  seen  the  marks  of  a 
spaniel's  feet.  I  thought  that  I  should  once  have  been  im- 
paled on  account  of  a  griffin.  I  have  been  sent  to  exe- 
cution for  having  made  some  verses  in  praise  of  the  king. 
I  have  been  upon  the  point  of  being  strangled  because  the 
queen  had  yellow  ribbons ;  and  now  I  am  a  slave  with  thee, 
because  a  brutal  wretch  beat  his  mistress.  Come,  let  us 
keep  a  good  heart ;  all  this  perhaps  will  have  an  end.  The 
Arabian  merchants  must  necessarily  have  slaves ;  and  why 
not  me  as  well  as  another,  since,  as  well  as  another,  I  am  a 
man  ?  This  merchant  will  not  be  cruel ;  he  must  treat  his 
slaves  well,  if  he  expects  any  advantage  from  them."  But 
while  he  spoke  thus,  his  heart  was  entirely  engrossed  by 
the  fate  of  the  Queen  of  Babylon. 

Two  days  after,  the  merchant  Setoc  set  out  for  Arabia 
Deserta,  with  his  slaves  and  his  camels.  His  tribe  dwelt 
near  the  Desert  of  Oreb.  The  journey  was  long  and  pain- 
ful. Setoc  set  a  much  greater  value  on  the  servant  than 
the  master,  because  the  former  was  more  expert  in  loading 

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Frangois  Marie  Aronet  de  Voltaire 

the  camels;  and  all  the  little  marks  of  distinction  were 
shown  to  him.  A  camel  having  died  within  two  days'  jour- 
ney of  Oreb,  his  burden  was  divided  and  laid  on  the  backs 
of  the  servants ;  and  Zadig  had  his  share  among  the  rest. 

Setoc  laughed  to  see  all  his  slaves  walking  with  their 
bodies  inclined.  Zadig  took  the  liberty  to  explain  to  him 
the  cause,  and  inform  him  of  the  laws  of  the  balance.  The 
merchant  was  astonished,  and  began  to  regard  him  with 
other  eyes.  Zadig,  finding  he  had  raised  his  curiosity,  in- 
creased it  still  further  by  acquainting  him  with  many  things 
that  related  to  commerce,  the  specific  gravity  of  metals, 
and  commodities  under  an  equal  bulk;  the  properties  of 
several  useful  animals ;  and  the  means  of  rendering  those 
useful  that  are  not  naturally  so.  At  last  Setoc  began  to 
consider  Zadig  as  a  sage,  and  preferred  him  to  his  com- 
panion, whom  he  had  formerly  so  much  esteemed.  He 
treated  him  well  and  had  no  cause  to  repent  of  his  kindness. 

THE  STONE 

As  soon  as  Setoc  arrived  among  his  own  tribe  he  de- 
manded the  payment  of  five  hundred  ounces  of  silver, 
which  he  had  lent  to  a  Jew  in  presence  of  two  witnesses ; 
but  as  the  witnesses  were  dead,  and  the  debt  could  not  be 
proved,  the  Hebrew  appropriated  the  merchant's  money 
to  himself,  and  piously  thanked  God  for  putting  it  in  his 
power  to  cheat  an  Arabian.  Setoc  imparted  this  trouble- 
some aflfair  to  Zadig,  who  was  now  become  his  counsel. 

In  what  place,''  said  Zadig,  didst  thou  lend  the  five 
hundred  ounces  to  this  infidel  ?  " 

Upon  a  large  stone,"  replied  the  merchant,  that  lies 
near  Mount  Oreb." 

"  What  is  the  character  of  thy  debtor  ?  "  said  Zadig. 

"  That  of  a  knave,"  returned  Setoc. 
But  I  ask  thee  whether  he  is  lively  or  phlegmatic, 
cautious  or  imprudent  ?  " 

"  He  is,  of  all  bad  payers,"  said  Setoc,  the  most  lively 
fellow  I  ever  knew." 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

Well,"  resumed  Zadig,  "  allow  me  to  plead  thy  cause/' 
In  effect  Zadig,  having  summoned  the  Jew  to  the  tribunal, 
addressed  the  judge  in  the  following  terms :  "  Pillow  of  the 
throne  of  equity,  I  come  to  demand  of  this  man,  in  the 
name  of  my  master,  five  hundred  ounces  of  silver,  which 
he  refuses  to  pay/' 

Hast  thou  any  witnesses  ?  "  said  the  judge. 

No,  they  are  dead ;  but  there  remains  a  large  stone 
upon  which  the  money  was  counted ;  and  if  it  please  thy 
grandeur  to  order  the  stone  to  be  sought  for,  I  hope  that 
it  will  bear  witness.  The  Hebrew  and  I  will  tarry  here 
till  the  stone  arrives ;  I  will  send  for  it  at  my  master's  ex- 
pense.'* 

With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  judge,  and  immediately 
applied  himself  to  the  discussion  of  other  affairs. 

When  the  court  was  going  to  break  up,  the  judge  said 
to  Zadig,    Well,  friend,  is  not  thy  stone  come  yet  ?  " 

The  Hebrew  replied  with  a  smile,  "  Thy  grandeur  may 
stay  here  till  the  morrow,  and  after  all  not  see  the  stone. 
It  is  more  than  six  miles  from  hence ;  and  it  would  require 
fifteen  men  to  move  it/' 

Well,"  cried  Zadig,  did  not  I  say  that  the  stone  would 
bear  witness  ?  Since  this  man  knows  where  it  is,  he  there- 
by confesses  that  it  was  upon  it  that  the  money  was 
counted/'  The  Hebrew  was  disconcerted,  and  was  soon 
after  obhged  to  confess  the  truth.  The  judge  ordered  him 
to  be  fastened  to  the  stone,  without  meat  or  drink,  till  he 
should  restore  the  five  hundred  ounces,  which  were  soon 
after  paid. 

The  slave  Zadig  and  the  stone  were  held  in  great  repute 
in  Arabia. 

THE  FUNERAL  PILE 

Setoc,  charmed  with  the  happy  issue  of  this  affair,  made 
his  slave  his  intimate  friend.  He  had  now  conceived  as 
great  esteem  for  him  as  ever  the  King  of  Babylon  had 
done ;  and  Zadig  was  glad  that  Setoc  had  no  wife.  He  dis- 
covered in  his  master  a  good  natural  disposition,  much 

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Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

probity  of  heart,  and  a  great  share  of  good  sense ;  but  he 
was  sorry  to  see  that,  according  to  the  ancient  custom 
of  Arabia,  he  adored  the  host  of  heaven ;  that  is,  the  sun,, 
moon,  and  stars.  He  sometimes  spoke  to  him  on  this  sub- 
ject with  great  prudence  and  discretion.  At  last  he  told 
him  that  these  bodies  were  Hke  all  other  bodies  in  the  i;ni- 
verse,  and  no  more  deserving  of  our  homage  than  a  tree 
or  a  rock. 

"  But,"  said  Setoc,  "  they  are  eternal  beings ;  and  it  is 
from  them  we  derive  all  we  enjoy.  They  animate  nature ; 
they  regulate  the  seasons ;  and,  besides,  are  removed  at 
such  an  immense  distance  from  us  that  we  cannot  help- 
revering  them." 

Thou  receivest  more  advantage,"  replied  Zadig,  from 
the  waters  of  the  Red  Sea,  which  carry  thy  merchandise 
to  the  Indies.  Why  may  not  it  be  as  ancient  as  the  stars? 
and  if  thou  adorest  what  is  placed  at  a  distance  from  thee,^ 
thou  oughtest  to  adore  the  land  of  the  Gangarides,  which 
Hes  at  the  extremity  of  the  earth." 

"  No,"  said  Setoc,  the  brightness  of  the  stars  command 
my  adoration." 

At  night  Zadig  lighted  up  a  great  number  of  candles  in 
the  tent  where  he  was  to  sup  with  Setoc ;  and  the  moment 
his  patron  appeared,  he  fell  on  his  knees  before  these 
lighted  tapers,  and  said,  "  Eternal  and  shining  luminaries  I 
be  ye  always  propitious  to  me."  Having  thus  said,  he  sat 
down  at  table,  without  taking  the  least  notice  of  Setoc. 
What  art  thou  doing?  "  said  Setoc  to  him  in  amaze. 
I  act  Hke  thee,"  replied  Zadig,  I  adore  these  candles, 
and  neglect  their  master  and  mine."  Setoc  comprehended 
the  profound  sense  of  this  apologue.  The  wisdom  of  his 
slave  sunk  deep  into  his  soul ;  he  no  longer  offered  incense 
to  the  creatures,  but  adored  the  eternal  Being  w^ho  made 
them. 

There  prevailed  at  that  time  in  Arabia  a  shocking  cus- 
tom, sprung  originally  from  Scythia,  and  which,  being 
established  in  the  Indies  by  the  credit  of  the  Brahmans, 
threatened  to  overrun  all  the  East.   When  a  married  man 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

died,  and  his  beloved  wife  aspired  to  the  character  of  a 
saint,  she  burned  herself  publicly  on  the  body  of  her  hus- 
band. This  was  a  solemn  feast  and  was  called  the  Fu- 
neral Pile  of  Widowhood,  and  that  tribe  in  which  most 
women  had  been  burned  was  the  most  respected. 

An  Arabian  of  Setoc's  tribe  being  dead,  his  widow, 
whose  name  was  Almona,  and  who  was  very  devout,  pub- 
lished the  day  and  hour  when  she  intended  to  throw  her- 
self into  the  fire,  amidst  the  sound  of  drums  and  trumpets. 
Zadig  remonstrated  against  this  horrible  custom;  he 
showed  Setoc  how  inconsistent  it  was  with  the  happiness 
of  mankind  to  suffer  young  widows  to  burn  themselves 
every  other  day,  widows  who  were  capable  of  giving  chil- 
dren to  the  state,  or  at  least  of  educating  those  they  al- 
ready had;  and  he  convinced  him  that  it  was  his  duty  to 
do  all  that  lay  in  his  power  to  abolish  such  a  barbarous 
practice. 

The  women,"  said  Setoc,  "  have  possessed  the  right  of 
burning  themselves  for  more  than  a  thousand  years;  and 
who  shall  dare  to  abrogate  a  law  which  time  hath  ren- 
dered sacred?  Is  there  anything  more  respectable  than 
ancient  abuses?  " 

Reason  is  more  ancient,"  replied  Zadig;  "  meanwhile, 
speak  thou  to  the  chiefs  of  the  tribes  and  I  will  go  to 
wait  on  the  young  widow." 

Accordingly  he  was  introduced  to  her;  and,  after  hav- 
ing insinuated  himself  into  her  good  graces  by  some  com- 
pliments on  her  beauty  and  told  her  what  a  pity  it  was 
to  commit  so  many  charms  to  the  flames,  he  at  last  praised 
her  for  her  constancy  and  courage.  "  Thou  must  surely 
have  loved  thy  husband,"  said  he  to  her,  "  with  the  most 
passionate  fondness." 

*'Who,  I?"  replied  the  lady.  "I  loved  him  not  at  all. 
He  was  a  brutal,  jealous,  insupportable  wretch;  but  I 
am  firmly  resolved  to  throw  myself  on  his  funeral  pile." 

It  would  appear  then,"  said  Zadig,  "  that  there  must 
be  a  very  delicious  pleasure  in  being  burned  alive." 

Oh!  it  makes  nature  shudder,"  replied  the  lady,  "but 
230 


Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

that  must  be  overlooked.  I  am  a  devotee,  and  I  should 
lose  my  reputation  and  all  the  v^orld  would  despise  me 
if  I  did  not  burn  myself/'  Zadig  having  made  her  ac- 
knowledge that  she  burned  herself  to  gain  the  good  opinion 
of  others  and  to  gratify  her  own  vanity,  entertained  her 
with  a  long  discourse,  calculated  to  make  her  a  Httle  in 
love  with  hfe,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  inspire  her  with 
some  degree  of  good  will  for  the  person  who  spoke  to  hen 

''Alas!''  said  the  lady,  ''I  believe  I  should  desire  thee 
to  marry  me." 

Zadig's  mind  was  too  much  engrossed  with  the  idea  of 
Astarte  not  to  elude  this  declaration ;  but  he  instantly  went 
to  the  chiefs  of  the  tribes,  told  them  what  had  passed, 
and  advised  them  to  make  a  law,  by  which  a  widow  should 
not  be  permitted  to  burn  herself  till  she  had  conversed 
privately  with  a  young  man  for  the  space  of  an  hour. 
Since  that  time  not  a  single  woman  hath  burned  herself 
in  Arabia,  They  were  indebted  to  Zadig  alone  for  de- 
stroying in  one  day  a  cruel  custom  that  had  lasted  for 
so  many  ages  and  thus  he  became  the  benefactor  of  Arabia. 

THE  SUPPER 

Setoc,  who  could  not  separate  himself  from  this  man,, 
in  whom  dwelt  wisdom,  carried  him  to  the  great  fair  of 
Balzora,  whither  the  richest  merchants  in  the  earth  re- 
sorted. Zadig  was  highly  pleased  to  see  so  many  men  of 
different  countries  united  in  the  same  place.  He  consid- 
ered the  whole  universe  as  one  large  family  assembled  at 
Balzora. 

Setoc,  after  having  sold  his  commodities  at  a  very  high 
price,  returned  to  his  own  tribe  with  his  friend  Zadig; 
who  learned,  upon  his  arrival,  that  he  had  been  tried  in 
his  absence,  and  was  now  going  to  be  burned  by  a  slow 
fire.  Only  the  friendship  of  Almona  saved  his  life.  Like 
so  many  pretty  women,  she  possessed  great  influence  with 
the  priesthood.    Zadig  thought  it  best  to  leave  Arabia. 

Setoc  was  so  charmed  with  the  ingenuity  and  address 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

of.  Almona  that  he  made  her  his  wife.  Zadig  departed, 
after  having  thrown  himself  at  the  feet  of  his  fair  deHverer. 
Setoc  and  he  took  leave  of  each  other  with  tears  in  their 
eyes,  swearing  an  eternal  friendship,  and  promising  that 
the  first  of  them  that  should  acquire  a  large  fortune  should 
share  it  with  the  other. 

Zadig  directed  his  course  along  the  frontiers  of  Assyria, 
still  musing  on  the  unhappy  Astarte,  and  reflecting  on  the 
severity  of  fortune  which  seemed  determined  to  make  him 
the  sport  of  her  cruelty  and  the  object  of  her  persecution. 

What,''  said  he  to  himself,  "  four  hundred  ounces  of  gold 
for  having  seen  a  spaniel !  condemned  to  lose  my  head  for 
four  bad  verses  in  praise  of  the  king!  ready  to  be  strangled 
because  the  queen  had  shoes  of  the  color  of  my  bonnet! 
reduced  to  slavery  for  having  succored  a  woman  who  was 
beat!  and  on  the  point  of  being  burned  for  having  saved 
the  lives  of  all  the  young  widows  of  Arabia!" 

THE  ROBBER 

Arriving  on  the  frontiers  which  divide  Arabia  Petrsea 
from  Syria,  he  passed  by  a  pretty  strong  castle,  from  which 
a  party  of  armed  Arabians  sallied  forth.  They  instantly 
surrounded  him  and  cried,  All  thou  hast  belongs  to  us, 
and  thy  person  is  the  property  of  our  master."  Zadig 
replied  by  drawing  his  sword;  his  servant,  who  was  a 
man  of  courage,  did  the  same.  They  killed  the  first 
Arabians  that  presumed  to  lay  hands  on  them;  and, 
though  the  number  was  redoubled,  they  were  not  dis- 
mayed, but  resolved  to  perish  in  the  conflict.  Two  men 
defended  themselves  against  a  multitude;  and  such  a  com- 
bat could  not  last  long. 

The  master  of  the  castle,  whose  name  was  Arbogad, 
having  observed  from  a  window  the  prodigies  of  valor  per- 
formed by  Zadig,  conceived  a  high  esteem  for  this  heroic 
stranger.  He  descended  in  haste  and  went  in  person  to 
call  oflf  his  men  and  deliver  the  two  travelers. 

All  that  passes  over  my  lands,"  said  he,  "  belongs  to 
232 


Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

me,  as  well  as  what  I  find  upon  the  lands  of  "others;  but 
thou  seemest  to  be  a  man  of  such  undaunted  courage 
that  I  will  exempt  thee  from  the  common  law/'  He 
then  conducted  him  to  his  castle,  ordering  his  men  to 
treat  him  well ;  and  in  the  evening  Arbogad  supped  with 
Zadig. 

The  lord  of  the  castle  was  one  of  those  Arabians  who 
are  commonly  called  robbers ;  but  he  now  and  then  per- 
formed some  good  actions  amid  a  multitude  of  bad  ones. 
He  robbed  with  a  furious  rapacity,  and  granted  favors  with 
great  generosity ;  he  was  intrepid  in  action ;  affable  in  com- 
pany; a  debauchee  at  table,  but  gay  in  debauchery;  and 
particularly  remarkable  for  his  frank  and  open  behavior. 
He  was  highly  pleased  with  Zadig,  whose  lively  conversa- 
tion lengthened  the  repast. 

At  last  Arbogad  said  to  him :  "  I  advise  thee  to  enroll 
thy  name  in  my  catalogue ;  thou  canst  not  do  better ;  this 
is  not  a  bad  trade ;  and  thou  mayest  one  day  become  what 
I  am  at  present.'' 

May  I  take  the  liberty  of  asking  thee,"  said  Zadig, 
how  long  thou  hast  followed  this  noble  profession  ?  " 

From  my  most  tender  youth,"  replied  the  lord.  "  I 
was  a  servant  to  a  pretty  good-natured  Arabian,  but  could 
not  endure  the  hardships  of  my  situation.  I  was  vexed 
to  find  that  fate  had  given  me  no  share  of  the  earth,  which 
equally  belongs  to  all  men.  I  imparted  the  cause  of  my 
uneasiness  to  an  old  Arabian,  who  said  to  me :  *  My  son, 
do  not  despair;  there  was  once  a  grain  of  sand  that  la- 
mented that  it  was  no  more  than  a  neglected  atom  in  the 
deserts;  at  the  end  of  a  few  years  it  became  a  diamond; 
and  is  now  the  brightest  ornament  in  the  crown  of  the 
king  of  the  Indies/  This  discourse  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  my  mind.  I  was  the  grain  of  sand,  and  I  resolved 
to  become  the  diamond.  I  began  by  stealing  two  horses ; 
I  soon  got  a  party  of  companions ;  I  put  myself  in  a  con- 
dition to  rob  small  caravans;  and  thus,  by  degrees,  I  de- 
stroyed the  difference  which  had  formerly  subsisted  be- 
tween me  and  other  men.    I  had  my  share  of  the  good 

233 


French  Mystery  Stories 

things  of  this  world ;  and  was  even  recompensed  with  usury 
for  the  hardships  I  had  suffered.  I  was  greatly  respected, 
and  became  the  captain  of  a  band  of  robbers.  I  seized 
this  castle  by  force.  The  Satrap  of  Syria  had  a  mind  to 
dispossess  me  of  it ;  but  I  was  too  rich  to  have  anything  to 
fear.  I  gave  the  satrap  a  handsome  present,  by  which 
means  I  preserved  my  castle  and  increased  my  posses- 
sions. He  even  appointed  me  treasurer  of  the  tributes 
which  Arabia  Petraea  pays  to  the  king  of  kings.  I  perform 
my  office  of  receiver  with  great  punctuality ;  but  take  the 
freedom  to  dispense  with  that  of  paymaster. 

The  grand  Desterham  of  Babylon  sent  hither  a  pretty 
satrap  in  the  name  of  King  Moabdar,  to  have  me  strangled. 
This  man  arrived  with  his  orders:  I  was  apprised  of  all; 
I  caused  to  be  strangled  in  his  presence  the  four  persons 
he  had  brought  with  him  to  draw  the  noose ;  after  which 
I  asked  him  how  much  his  commission  of  strangling  me 
might  be  worth.  He  replied,  that  his  fees  would  amount 
to  above  three  hundred  pieces  of  gold.  I  then  convinced 
him  that  he  might  gain  more  by  staying  with  me.  I  made 
him  an  inferior  robber ;  and  he  is  now  one  of  my  best  and 
richest  officers.  If  thou  wilt  take  my  advice  thy  success 
may  be  equal  to  his;  never  was  there  a  better  season  for 
plunder,  since  King  Moabdar  is  killed,  and  all  Babylon 
thrown  into  confusion.'^ 

"  Moabdar  killed !  "  said  Zadig,  and  what  is  become  of 
Queen  Astarte  ? 

"  I  know  not,"  replied  Arbogad.  All  I  know  is,  that 
Moabdar  lost  his  senses  and  was  killed ;  that  Babylon  is 
a  scene  of  disorder  and  bloodshed;  that  all  the  empire  is 
desolated ;  that  there  are  some  fine  strokes  to  be  struck 
yet;  and  that,  for  my  own  part,  I  have  struck  some  that 
are  admirable.'' 

But  the  queen/'  said  Zadig;  "  for  heaven's  sake,  know- 
est  thou  nothing  of  the  queen's  fate?  " 

Yes,"  replied  he,  "  I  have  heard  something  of  a  prince 
of  Hircania;  if  she  was  not  killed  in  the  tumult,  she  is 
probably  one  of  his  concubines ;  but  I  am  much  fonder  of 


Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

booty  than  news.  I  have  taken  several  women  in  my  ex- 
cursions ;  but  I  keep  none  of  them.  I  sell  them  at  a  high 
price,  when  they  are  beautiful,  without  inquiring  who  they 
are.  In  commodities  of  this  kind  rank  makes  no  difference, 
and  a  queen  that  is  ugly  will  never  find  a  merchant.  Per- 
haps I  may  have  sold  Queen  Astarte ;  perhaps  she  is  dead ; 
but,  be  it  as  it  will,  it  is  of  little  consequence  to  me,  and  I 
should  imagine  of  as  little  to  thee."  So  saying  he  drank 
a  large  di  aught  which  threw  all  his  ideas  into  such  confu- 
sion that  Zadig  could  obtain  no  further  information. 

Zadig  remained  for  some  time  without  speech,  sense,  or 
motion.  Arbogad  continued  drinking ;  told  stories ;  con- 
stantly repeated  that  he  was  the  happiest  man  in  the  world ; 
and  exhorted  Zadig  to  put  himself  in  the  same  condition. 
At  last  the  soporiferous  fumes  of  the  wine  lulled  him  into 
a  gentle  repose. 

Zadig  passed  the  night  in  the  most  violent  perturbation. 

What,''  said  he,  ^'  did  the  king  lose  his  senses  ?  and  is  he 
killed?  I  cannot  help  lamenting  his  fate.  The  empire  is 
rent  in  pieces ;  and  this  robber  is  happy.  O  fortune !  O 
destiny !  A  robber  is  happy,  and  the  most  beautiful  of 
nature's  works  hath  perhaps  perished  in  a  barbarous  man- 
ner or  lives  in  a  state  worse  than  death.  O  Astarte !  what 
is  become  of  thee?  " 

At  daybreak  he  questioned  all  those  he  met  in  the 
castle ;  but  they  were  all  busy,  and  he  received  no  answer. 
During  the  night  they  had  made  a  new  capture,  and  they 
were  now  employed  in  dividing  the  spoils.  All  he  could 
obtain  in  this  hurry  and  confusion  was  an  opportunity 
of  departing,  which  he  immediately  embraced,  plunged 
deeper  than  ever  in  the  most  gloomy  and  mournful  reflec- 
tions. 

Zadig  proceeded  on  his  journey  with  a  mind  full  of  dis- 
quiet and  perplexity,  and  wholly  employed  on  the  unhappy 
Astarte,  on  the  King  of  Babylon,  on  his  faithful  friend 
Cador,  on  the  happy  robber  Arbogad;  in  a  word,  on  all 
the  misfortunes  and  disappointments  he  had  hitherto  suf- 
fered. 


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French  Mystery  Stories 


THE  FISHERMAN 

At  a  few  leagues'  distance  from  Arbogad's  castle  he  came 
to  the  banks  of  a  small  river,  still  deploring  his  fate,  and 
considering  himself  as  the  most  wretched  of  mankind.  He 
saw  a  fisherman  lying  on  the  brink  of  the  river,  scarcely 
holding,  in  his  weak  and  feeble  hand,  a  net  which  he  seemed 
ready  to  drop,  and  lifting  up  his  eyes  to  Heaven. 

I  am  certainly,"  said  the  fisherman,  the  most  unhappy 
man  in  the  world.  I  was  universally  allowed  to  be  the  most 
famous  dealer  in  cream  cheese  in  Babylon,  and  yet  I  am 
ruined.  I  had  the  most  handsome  wife  that  any  man 
in  my  station  could  have;  and  by  her  I  have  been  betrayed. 
I  had  still  left  a  paltry  house,  and  that  I  have  seen  pillaged 
and  destroyed.  At  last  I  took  refuge  in  this  cottage,  where 
I  have  no  other  resource  than  fishing,  and  yet  I  cannot 
catch  a  single  fish.  Oh,  my  net!  no  more  will  I  throw 
thee  into  the  water;  I  will  throw  myself  in  thy  place."  So 
saying,  he  arose  and  advanced  forward  in  the  attitude  of  a 
man  ready  to  throw  himself  into  the  river,  and  thus  to 
finish  his  life. 

"What!"  said  Zadig  to  himself,  "are  there  men  as 
wretched  as  I?"  His  eagerness  to  save  the  fisherman^s  life 
was  as  this  reflection.  He  ran  to  him,  stopped  him,  and 
spoke  to  him  with  a  tender  and  compassionate  air.  It  is 
commonly  supposed  that  we  are  less  miserable  when  we 
have  companions  in  our  misery.  This,  acording  to  Zoro- 
aster, does  not  proceed  from  maHce,  but  necessity.  We 
feel  ourselves  insensibly  drawn  to  an  unhappy  person  as 
to  one  like  ourselves.  The  joy  of  the  happy  would  be  an 
insult;  but  two  men  in  distress  are  like  two  slender  trees, 
which,  mutually  supporting  each  other,  fortify  themselves 
against  the  storm. 

"  Why,"  said  Zadig  to  the  fisherman,  "  dost  thou  sink 
under  thy  misfortunes?" 

"  Because,"  replied  he,  "  I  see  no  means  of  relief.  I  was 
the  most  considerable  man  in  the  village  of  Derlback,  near 

236 


Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

Babylon,  and  with  the  assistance  of  my  wife  I  made  the 
best  cream  cheese  in  the  empire.  Queen  Astarte  and  the 
famous  minister  Zadig  were  extremely  fond  of  them/' 

Zadig,  transported,  said,  What,  knowest  thou  nothing 
of  the  queen's  fate?  " 

No,  my  lord,''  repHed  the  fisherman;  but  I  know  that 
neither  the  queen  nor  Zadig  has  paid  me  for  my  cream 
cheeses;  that  I  have  lost  my  wife,  and  am  now  reduced  to 
despair." 

"  I  flatter  myself,"  said  Zadig,  "  that  thou  wilt  not  lose 
all  thy  money.  I  have  heard  of  this  Zadig;  he  is  an  honest 
man;  and  if  he  returns  to  Babylon,  as  he  expects,  he  will 
give  thee  more  than  he  owes  thee.  Believe  me,  go  to 
Babylon.  I  shall  be  there  before  thee,  because  I  am  on 
horseback,  and  thou  art  on  foot.  Apply  to  the  illustrious 
Cador;  tell  him  thou  hast  met  his  friend;  wait  for  me  at  his 
house ;  go,  perhaps  thou  wilt  not  always  be  unhappy. 

O  powerful  Oromazes!  "  continued  he,  thou  employ- 
est  me  to  comfort  this  man ;  whom  wilt  thou  employ  to  give 
me  consolation?"  So  saying,  he  gave  the  fisherman  half 
the  money  he  had  brought  from  Arabia.  The  fisherman, 
struck  with  surprise  and  ravished  with  joy,  kissed  the  feet 
of  the  friend  of  Cador,  and  said,  "  Thou  are  surely  an  angel 
sent  from  Heaven  to  save  me!" 

Meanwhile,  Zadig  continued  to  make  fresh  inquiries,  and 
to  shed  tears.       What,  my  lord!"  cried  the  fisherman, 

art  thou  then  so  unhappy,  thou  who  bestowest  favors  ?  " 
An  hundred  times  more  unhappy  than  thou  art,"  re- 
pHed Zadig. 

"  But  how  is  it  possible,"  said  the  good  man,  that  the 
giver  can  be  more  wretched  than  the  receiver?" 

"  Because,"  replied  Zadig,  thy  greatest  misery  arose 
from  poverty,  and  mine  is  seated  in  the  heart." 

"Did  Orcan  take  thy  wife  from  thee?"  said  the  fisher- 
man. 

This  word  recalled  to  Zadig's  mind  the  whole  of  his  ad- 
ventures. He  repeated  the  catalogue  of  his  misfortunes, 
beginning  with  the  queen's  spaniel,  and  ending  with  his 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

arrival  at  the  castle  of  the  robber  Arbogad.  "  Ah !  said 
he  to  the  fisherman,  Orcan  deserves  to  be  punished;  but 
it  is  commonly  such  men  as  those  that  are  the  favorites  of 
fortune.  However,  go  thou  to  the  house  of  Lord  Cador, 
and  there  wait  my  arrival."  They  then  parted,  the  fisher- 
man walked,  thanking  Heaven  for  the  happiness  of  his  con- 
dition; and  Zadig  rode,  accusing  fortune  for  the  hardness 
of  his  lot. 

THE  BASILISK 

Arriving  in  a  beautiful  meadow,  he  there  saw  several 
women,  who  were  searching  for  something  with  great  ap- 
plication. He  took  the  libci'ty  to  approach  one  of  them, 
and  to  ask  if  he  might  have  the  honor  to  assist  them  in 
their  search.  "  Take  care  that  thou  dost  not,"  replied  the 
Syrian ;  what  we  are  searching  for  can  be  touched  only 
by  women." 

Strange,"  said  Zadig,     may  I  presume  to  ask  thee 
what  it  is  that  women  only  are  permitted  to  touch  ?  " 
It  is  a  basilisk,"  said  she. 

"  A  basilisk,  madam !  and  for  what  purpose,  pray,  dost 
thou  seek  for  a  basilisk  ?  " 

"  It  is  for  our  lord  and  master  Ogul,  whose  cattle  thou 
seest  on  the  bank  of  that  river  at  the  end  of  the  meadow. 
We  are  his  most  humble  slaves.  The  lord  Ogul  is  sick. 
His  physician  hath  ordered  him  to  eat  a  basilisk,  stewed 
in  rose  water ;  and  as  it  is  a  very  rare  animal,  and  can  only 
be  taken  by  women,  the  lord  Ogul  hath  promised  to  choose 
for  his  well-beloved  wife  the  woman  that  shall  bring  him  a 
basihsk;  let  me  go  on  in  my  search;  for  thou  seest  what 
I  shall  lose  if  I  am  prevented  by  my  companions." 

Zadig  left  her  and  the  other  Assyrians  to  search  for  their 
basilisk,  and  continued  to  walk  in  the  meadow ;  when  com- 
ing to  the  brink  of  a  small  rivulet,  he  found  another  lady 
lying  on  the  grass,  and  who  was  not  searching  for  any- 
thing. Her  person  seemed  to  be  majestic;  but  her  face 
let,  and  profound  sighs  proceeded  from  her  mouth.  In 
was  covered  with  a  veil.   She  was  inclined  toward  the  rivu- 

238 


Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

her  hand  she  held  a  small  rod  with  which  she  was  tracing 
characters  on  the  fine  sand  that  lay  between  the  turf  and 
the  brook.  Zadig  had  the  curiosity  to  examine  what  this 
woman  was  writing.  He  drew  near;  he  saw  the  letter  Z, 
then  an  A;  he  was  astonished;  then  appeared  a  D;  he 
started.  But  never  was  surprise  equal  to  his  when  he  saw 
the  two  last  letters  of  his  name. 

He  stood  for  some  time  immovable.  At  last,  breaking 
silence  with  a  faltering  voice :  O  generous  lady !  pardon 
a  stranger,  an  unfortunate  man,  for  presuming  to  ask  thee 
by  what  surprising  adventure  I  here  find  the  name  of 
Zadig  traced  out  by  thy  divine  hand ! " 

At  this  voice,  and  these  words,  the  lady  lifted  up  the  veil 
with  a  trembling  hand,  looked  at  Zadig,  sent  forth  a  cry 
of  tenderness,  surprise  and  joy,  and  sinking  under  the  vari- 
ous emotions  which  at  once  assaulted  her  soul,  fell  speech- 
less into  his  arms.  It  was  Astarte  herself ;  it  was  the  Queen 
of  Babylon;  it  was  she  whom  Zadig  adored,  and  whom 
he  had  reproached  himself  for  adoring;  it  was  she  whose 
misfortunes  he  had  so  deeply  lamented,  and  for  whose  fate 
he  had  been  so  anxiously  concerned. 

He  was  for  a  moment  deprived  of  the  use  of  his  senses, 
when  he  had  fixed  his  eyes  on  those  of  Astarte,  which  now 
began  to  open  again  with  a  languor  mixed  with  confusion 
and  tenderness :  O  ye  immortal  powers !  "  cried  he,  "  who 
preside  over  the  fates  of  weak  mortals,  do  ye  indeed  re- 
store Astarte  to  me !  at  what  a  time,  in  what  a  place,  and 
in  what  a  condition  do  I  again  behold  her ! He  fell  on 
his  knees  before  Astarte,  and  laid  his  face  in  the  dust  at 
her  feet.  The  Queen  of  Babylon  raised  him  up,  and  made 
him  sit  by  her  side  on  the  brink  of  the  rivulet.  She  fre- 
quently wiped  her  eyes,  from  which  the  tears  continued  to 
flow  afresh.  She  twenty  times  resumed  her  discourse, 
which  her  sighs  as  often  interrupted;  she  asked  by  what 
strange  accident  they  were  brought  together,  and  suddenly 
prevented  his  answers  by  other  questions ;  she  waived  the 
account  of  her  own  misfortunes,  and  desired  to  be  informed 
of  those  of  Zadig. 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

At  last,  both  of  them  having  a  Httle  composed  the  tu- 
mult of  their  souls,  Zadig  acquainted  her  in  a  few  words  by 
what  adventure  he  was  brought  into  that  meadow.  But, 
O  unhappy  and  respectable  queen!  by  what  means  do  I 
find  thee  in  this  lonely  place,  clothed  in  the  habit  of  a 
slave,  and  accompanied  by  other  female  slaves,  who  are 
searching  for  a  basilisk,  which,  by  order  of  the  physician, 
is  to  be  stewed  in  rose  water? 

While  they  are  searching  for  their  basilisk,"  said  the 
fair  Astarte,  "  I  will  inform  thee  of  all  I  have  suffered,  for 
which  Heaven  has  suflficiently  recompensed  me  by  restor- 
ing thee  to  my  sight.  Thou  knowest  that  the  king,  my 
husband,  was  vexed  to  see  thee  the  most  amiable  of  man- 
kind; and  that  for  this  reason  he  one  night  resolved  to 
strangle  thee  and  poison  me.  Thou  knowest  how  Heaven 
permitted  my  little  mute  to  inform  me  of  the  orders  of 
his  sublime  majesty.  Hardly  had  the  faithful  Cador  ad- 
vised thee  to  depart,  in  obedience  to  my  command,  when 
he  ventured  to  enter  my  apartment  at  midnight  by  a  secret 
passage.  He  carried  me  ofif  and  conducted  me  to  the  tem- 
ple of  Oromazes,  w^here  the  magi  his  brother  shut  me 
up  in  that  huge  statue  whose  base  reaches  to  the  founda- 
tion of  the  temple  and  whose  top  rises  to  the  summit  of 
the  dome.  I  was  there  buried  in  a  manner ;  but  was  saved 
by  the  magi;  and  supplied  with  all  the  necessaries  of  life. 
At  break  of  day  his  majesty's  apothecary  entered  my  cham- 
ber with  a  potion  composed  of  a  mixture  of  henbane, 
opium,  hemlock,  black  hellebore,  and  aconite ;  and  another 
officer  went  to  thine  with  a  bowstring  of  blue  silk.  Neither 
of  us  was  to  be  found.  Cador,  the  better  to  deceive  the 
king,  pretended  to  come  and  accuse  us  both.  He  said  that 
thou  hadst  taken  the  road  to  the  Indies,  and  I  that  to  Mem- 
phis, on  which  the  king's  guards  were  immediately  dis- 
patched in  pursuit  of  us  both. 

The  couriers  who  pursued  me  did  not  know  me.  I 
had  hardly  ever  shown  my  face  to  any  but  thee,  and  to  thee 
only  in  the  presence  and  by  the  order  of  my  husband. 
They  conducted  themselves  in  the  pursuit  by  the  descrip- 

240 


Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

tion  that  had  been  given  them  of  my  person.  On  the  fron- 
tiers of  Egypt  they  met  with  a  woman  of  the  same  stature 
with  me,  and  possessed  perhaps  of  greater  charms.  She 
was  weeping  and  wandering.  They  made  no  doubt  but  that 
this  woman  was  the  Queen  of  Babylon  and  accordingly 
brought  her  to  Moabdar.  Their  mistake  at  first  threw  the 
king  into  a  violent  passion;  but  having  viewed  this  woman 
more  attentively,  he  found  her  extremely  handsome  and 
was  comforted.  She  was  called  Missouf.  I  have  since 
been  informed  that  this  name  in  the  Egyptian  language 
signifies  the  capricious  fair  one.  She  was  so  in  reality; 
but  she  had  as  much  cunning  as  caprice.  She  pleased 
Moabdar  and  gained  such  an  ascendancy  over  him  as 
to  make  him  choose  her  for  his  wife.  Her  character  then 
began  to  appear  in  its  true  colors.  She  gave  herself  up, 
without  scruple,  to  all  the  freaks  of  a  wanton  imagination. 
She  would  have  obliged  the  chief  of  the  magi,  who  was 
old  and  gouty,  to  dance  before  her;  and  on  his  refusal, 
she  persecuted  him  with  the  most  unrelenting  cruelty. 
She  ordered  her  master  of  the  horse  to  make  her  a  pie 
of  sweetmeats.  In  vain  did  he  represent  that  he  was  not 
a  pastry-cook;  he  was  obliged  to  make  it,  and  lost  his 
place,  because  it  was  baked  a  little  too  hard.  The  post 
of  master  of  the  horse  she  gave  to  her  dwarf,  and  that 
of  chancellor  to  her  page.  In  this  manner  did  she  govern 
Babylon.  Everybody  regretted  the  loss  of  me.  The  king, 
who  till  the  moment  of  his  resolving  to  poison  me  and 
strangle  thee,  had  been  a  tolerably  good  kind  of  man, 
seemed  now  to  have  drowned  all  his  virtues  in  his  im- 
moderate fondness  for  this  capricious  fair  one.  He  came 
to  the  temple  on  the  great  day  of  the  feast  held  in  honor 
of  the  sacred  fire.  I  saw  him  implore  the  gods  in  behalf 
of  Missouf,  at  the  feet  of  the  statue  in  which  I  was  in- 
closed. I  raised  my  voice,  I  cried  out,  '  The  gods  reject 
the  prayers  of  a  king  who  is  now  become  a  tyrant,  and 
who  attempted  to  murder  a  reasonable  wife,  in  order  to 
marry  a  woman  remarkable  for  nothing  but  her  folly  and 
extravagance.'   At  these  words  Moabdar  was  confounded 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

and  his  head  became  disordered.  The  oracle  I  had  pro- 
nounced, and  the  tyranny  of  Missouf,  conspired  to  deprive 
him  of  his  judgment,  and  in  a  few  days  his  reason  entirely 
forsook  him. 

"  Moabdar's  madness,  which  seemed  to  be  the  judgment 
of  Heaven,  was  the  signal  to  a  revolt.  The  people  rose 
and  ran  to  arms ;  and  Babylon,  which  had  been  so  long  im- 
mersed in  idleness  and  effeminacy,  became  the  theater  of 
a  bloody  civil  war.  I  was  taken  from  the  heart  of  my 
statue  and  placed  at  the  head  of  a  party.  Cador  flew  to 
Memphis  to  bring  thee  back  to  Babylon.  The  Prince  of 
Hircania,  informed  of  these  fatal  events,  returned  with  his 
army  and  made  a  third  party  in  Chaldea.  He  attacked  the 
king,  who  fled  before  him  with  his  capricious  Egyptian. 
Moabdar  died  pierced  with  wounds.  I  myself  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  taken  by  a  party  of  Hircanians,  who  con- 
ducted me  to  their  prince's  tent,  at  the  very  moment  that 
Missouf  was  brought  before  him.  Thou  wilt  doubtless 
be  pleased  to  hear  that  the  prince  thought  me  beautiful; 
but  thou  wilt  be  sorry  to  be  informed  that  he  designed 
me  for  his  seraglio.  He  told  me,  with  a  blunt  and  resolute 
air,  that  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  a  military  expedition, 
which  he  was  just  going  to  undertake,  he  would  come  to 
me.  Judge  how  great  must  have  been  my  grief.  My 
ties  with  Moabdar  were  already  dissolved;  I  might  have 
been  the  wife  of  Zadig;  and  I  was  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  a  barbarian.  I  answered  him  with  all  the  pride  which 
my  high  rank  and  noble  sentiment  could  inspire.  I  had 
always  heard  it  affirmed  that  Heaven  stamped  on  persons 
of  my  condition  a  mark  of  grandeur,  which,  with  a  single 
word  or  glance,  could  reduce  to  the  lawliness  of  the  most 
profound  respect  those  rash  and  forward  persons  who 
presume  to  deviate  from  the  rules  of  politeness.  I  spoke 
like  a  queen,  but  was  treated  like  a  maidservant.  The 
Hircanian,  without  even  deigning  to  speak  to  me,  told  his 
black  eunuch  that  I  was  impertinent,  but  that  he  thought 
me  handsome.  He  ordered  him  to  take  care  of  me,  and 
to  put  me  under  the  regimen  of  favorites,  that  so  my 

242 


Frangois  Marie  Aroiiet  dc  Voltaire 

complexion  being  improved,  I  might  be  the  more  worthy 
of  his  favors  when  he  should  be  at  leisure  to  honor  me 
with  them.  I  told  him  that  rather  than  submit  to  his  de- 
sires I  would  put  an  end  to  my  life.  He  replied,  with  a 
smile,  that  women,  he  believed,  were  not  so  bloodthirsty, 
and  that  he  was  accustomed  to  such  violent  expressions; 
and  then  left  me  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  just  put 
another  parrot  into  his  aviary.  What  a  state  for  the  first 
queen  of  the  universe,  and,  what  is  more,  for  a  heart 
devoted  to  Zadig!  " 

At  these  words  Zadig  threw  himself  at  her  feet  and 
bathed  them  with  his  tears.  Astarte  raised  him  with  great 
tenderness  and  thus  continued  her  story :  I  now  saw 
myself  in  the  power  of  a  barbarian  and  rival  to  the  foolish 
woman  with  whom  I  was  confined.  She  gave  me  an  ac- 
count of  her  adventures  in  Egypt.  From  the  description 
she  gave  me  of  your  person,  from  the  time,  from  the 
dromedary  on  which  you  were  mounted,  and  from  every 
other  circumstance,  I  inferred  that  Zadig  was  the  man  who 
had  fought  for  her.  I  doubted  not  but  that  you  were  at 
Memphis,  and,  therefore,  resolved  to  repair  thither.  Beau- 
tiful Missouf,  said  I,  thou  art  more  handsome  than  I,  and 
wall  please  the  Prince  of  Hircania  much  better.  Assist  me 
in  contriving  the  means  of  my  escape ;  thou  wilt  then  reign 
alone ;  thou  wilt  at  once  make  me  happy  and  rid  thyself  of 
a  rival.  Missouf  concerted  with  me  the  means  of  my  flight ; 
and  I  departed  secretly  with  a  female  Egyptian  slave. 

"  As  I  approached  the  frontiers  of  Arabia,  a  famous  rob- 
ber, named  Arbogad,  seized  me  and  sold  me  to  some  mer- 
chants, who  brought  me  to  this  castle,  where  Lord  Ogul 
resides.  He  bought  me  without  knowing  who  I  was.  He 
is  a  voluptuary,  ambitious  of  nothing  but  good  living,  and 
thinks  that  God  sent  him  into  the  world  for  no  other  pur- 
pose than  to  sit  at  table.  He  is  so  extremely  corpulent 
that  he  is  always  in  danger  of  suffocation.  His  physician, 
who  has  but  little  credit  with  him  when  he  has  a  good 
digestion,  governs  him  with  a  despotic  sway  when  he  has 
ate  too  much.    He  has  persuaded  him  that  a  basilisk 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

istewed  in  rose  water  will  effect  a  complete  cure.  The  Lord 
Ogul  hath  promised  his  hand  to  the  female  slave  that 
brings  him  a  basihsk.  Thou  seest  that  I  leave  them  to  vie 
with  each  other  in  meriting  this  honor;  and  never  was  I 
less  desirous  of  finding  the  basihsk  than  since  Heaven  hath 
restored  thee  to  my  sight/' 

This  account  was  succeeded  by  a  long  conversation  be- 
tween Astarte  and  Zadig,  consisting  of  everything  that 
their  long-suppressed  sentiments,  their  great  sufiferings, 
and  their  mutual  love  could  inspire  into  hearts  the  most 
noble  and  tender;  and  the  genii  who  preside  over  love 
carried  their  words  to  the  sphere  of  Venus. 

The  women  returned  to  Ogul  without  having  found  the 
basilisk.  Zadig  was  introduced  to  this  mighty  lord  and 
spoke  to  him  in  the  following  terms :  May  immortal  health 
descend  from  heaven  to  bless  all  thy  days !  I  am  a  phy- 
sician ;  at  the  first  report  of  thy  indisposition  I  flew  to 
thy  castle  and  have  now  brought  thee  a  basilisk  stewed  in 
rose  water.  Not  that  I  pretend  to  marry  thee.  All  I  ask 
■is  the  Hberty  of  a  Babylonian  slave,  who  hath  been  in  thy 
possession  for  a  few  days ;  and,  if  I  should  not  be  so  happy 
as  to  cure  thee,  magnificent  Lord  Ogul,  I  consent  to  re- 
main a  slave  in  her  place.'' 

The  proposal  was  accepted.  Astarte  set  out  for  Babylon 
with  Zadig's  servant,  promising,  immediately  upon  her  ar- 
rival, to  send  a  courier  to  inform  him  of  all  that  had  hap- 
pened. Their  parting  was  as  tender  as  their  meeting.  The 
moment  of  meeting  and  that  of  parting  are  the  two  great- 
est epochs  of  life,  as  sayeth  the  great  book  of  Zend.  Zadig 
loved  the  queen  with  as  much  ardor  as  he  professed ;  and 
the  queen  more  than  she  thought  proper  to  acknowledge. 

Meanwhile  Zadig  spoke  thus  to  Ogul:  ''My  lord,  my 
basilisk  is  not  to  be  eaten;  all  its  virtues  must  enter  through 
thy  pores.  I  have  inclosed  it  in  a  little  ball,  blown  up 
and  covered  with  a  fine  skin.  Thou  must  strike  this  ball 
with  all  thy  might  and  I  must  strike  it  back  for  a  con- 
siderable time;  and  by  observing  this  regimen  for  a  few 
*days  thou  wilt  see  the  effects  of  my  art."    The  first  day 

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Frangois  Marie  Arotiet  de  Voltaire 

Ogul  was  out  of  breath  and  thought  he  should  have  died^ 
with  fatigue.  The  second  he  was  less  fatigued,  slept  bet- 
ter. In  eight  days  he  recovered  all  the  strength,  all  the 
health,  all  the  agility  and  cheerfulness  of  his  most  agree- 
able years. 

Thou  hast  played  at  ball,  and  thou  hast  been  tem- 
perate," said  Zadig ;  "  know  that  there  is  no  such  thing  in 
nature  as  a  basilisk;  that  temperance  and  exercise  are  the 
two  great  preservatives  of  health;  and  that  the  art  of 
reconciling  intemperance  and  health  is  as  chimerical  as 
the  philosopher's  stone,  judicial  astrology,  or  the  theology 
of  the  magi." 

OguFs  first  physician,  observing  how  dangerous  this 
man  might  prove  to  the  medical  art,  formed  a  design,  iit 
conjunction  with  the  apothecary,  to  send  Zadig  to  search, 
for  a  basilisk  in  the  other  world.  Thus,  having  suffered 
such  a  long  train  of  calamities  on  account  of  his  good  ac- 
tions, he  was  now  upon  the  point  of  losing  his  life  for 
curing  a  gluttonous  lord.  He  was  invited  to  an  excellent 
dinner  and  was  to  have  been  poisoned  in  the  second  course,, 
but,  during  the  first,  he  happily  received  a  courier  from 
the  fair  Astarte.  When  one  is  beloved  by  a  beautiful 
woman,"  says  the  great  Zoroaster,  he  hath  always  the 
good  fortune  to  extricate  himself  out  of  every  kind  of  dif- 
ficulty and  danger." 

THE  COMBATS 

The  queen  was  received  at  Babylon  with  all  those 
transports  of  joy  which  are  ever  felt  on  the  return  of  a 
beautiful  princess  who  hath  been  involved  in  calamities. 
Babylon  was  now  in  greater  tranquillity.  The  Prince  of 
Hircania  had  been  killed  in  battle.  The  victorious  Baby- 
lonians declared  that  the  queen  should  marry  the  mart 
whom  they  should  choose  for  their  sovereign.  They  were 
resolved  that  the  first  place  in  the  world,  that  of  being  hus- 
band to  Astarte  and  King  of  Babylon,  should  not  depend 
on  cabals  and  intrigues.   They  swore  to  acknowledge  for 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

king  the  man  who,  upon  trial,  should  be  found  to  be  pos- 
sessed of  the  greatest  valor  and  the  greatest  wisdom. 
Accordingly,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  leagues  from  the  city, 
a  spacious  place  was  marked  out  for  the  list,  surrounded 
with  magnificent  amphitheaters.  Thither  the  combatants 
were  to  repair  in  complete  armor.  Each  of  them  had  a 
separate  apartment  behind  the  amphitheaters,  where  they 
w^ere  neither  to  be  seen  nor  known  by  anyone.  Each  was 
to  encounter  four  knights,  and  those  that  were  so  happy 
as  to  conquer  four  were  then  to  engage  with  one  another; 
so  that  he  who  remained  the  last  master  of  the  field  would 
be  proclaimed  conqueror  at  the  games. 

Four  days  after  he  was  to  return  with  the  same  arms 
and  to  explain  the  enigmas  proposed  by  the  magi.  If  he 
did  not  explain  the  enigmas  he  was  not  king;  and  the 
running  at  the  lances  was  to  be  begun  afresh  till  a  man 
would  be  found  who  was  conqueror  in  both  these  com- 
bats; for  they  were  absolutely  determined  to  have  a  king 
possessed  of  the  greatest  wisdom  and  the  most  invincible 
courage.  The  queen  was  all  the  while  to  be  strictly 
guarded:  she  was  only  allowed  to  be  present  at  the  games, 
and  even  there  she  was  to  be  covered  with  a  veil;  but  was 
not  permitted  to  speak  to  any  of  the  competitors,  that  so 
they  might  neither  receive  favor,  nor  suffer  injustice. 

These  particulars  Astarte  communicated  to  her  lover, 
Tioping  that  in  order  to  obtain  her  he  would  show  him- 
self possessed  of  greater  courage  and  wisdom  than  any 
other  person.  Zadig  set  out  on  his  journey,  beseeching 
Venus  to  fortify  his  courage  and  enlighten  his  understand- 
ing. He  arrived  on  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates  on  the 
eve  of  this  great  day.  He  caused  his  device  to  be  in- 
scribed among  those  of  the  combatants,  concealing  his  face 
and  his  name,  as  the  law  ordained;  and  then  went  to  re- 
pose himself  in  the  apartment  that  fell  to  him  by  lot.  His 
friend  Cador,  who,  after  the  fruitless  search  he  had  made 
for  him  in  Egypt,  was  now  returned  to  Babylon,  sent  to 
his  tent  a  complete  suit  of  armor,  which  was  a  present  from 
tht  queen ;  as  also,  from  himself,  one  of  the  finest  horses 

246 


Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

in  Persia.  Zadig  presently  perceived  that  these  presents, 
were  sent  by  Astarte;  and  from  thence  his  courage  derived 
fresh  strength,  and  his  love  the  most  animating  hopes. 

Next  day,  the  queen  being  seated  under  a  canopy  of 
jewels,  and  the  amphitheaters  filled  with  all  the  gentlemen 
and  ladies  of  rank  in  Babylon,  the  combatants  appeared  in 
the  circus.  Each  of  them  came  and  laid  his  device  at  the 
feet  of  the  grand  magi.  They  drew  their  devices  by  lot; 
and  that  of  Zadig  was  the  last.  The  first  who  advanced 
was  a  certain  lord,  named  Itobad,  very  rich  and  very  vain, 
but  possessed  of  little  courage,  of  less  address,  and  hardly 
of  any  judgment  at  all.  His  servants  had  persuaded  him 
that  such  a  man  as  he  ought  to  be  king;  he  had  said  in. 
reply,  "Such  a  man  as  I  ought  to  reign";  and  thus  they 
had  armed  him  for  a  cap-a-pie.  He  wore  an  armor  of 
gold  enameled  with  green,  a  plume  of  green  feathers,  and 
a  lance  adorned  with  green  ribbons.  It  was  instantly  per- 
ceived by  the  manner  in  which  Itobad  managed  his  horse,, 
that  it  was  not  for  such  a  man  as  he  that  Heaven  re- 
served the  scepter  of  Babylon.  The  first  knight  that  ran 
against  him  threw  him  out  of  his  saddle;  the  second  laid 
him  flat  on  his  horse's  buttocks,  with  his  legs  in  the  air^ 
and  his  arms  extended.  Itobad  recovered  himself,  but  with 
so  bad  a  grace  that  the  whole  amphitheater  burst  out 
a-laughing.  The  third  knight  disdained  to  make  use  of 
his  lance;  but,  making  a  pass  at  him,  took  him  by  the 
right  leg  and,  wheeling  him  half  round,  laid  him  prostrate 
on  the  sand.  The  squires  of  the  game  ran  to  him  laugh- 
ing, and  replaced  him  in  his  saddle.  The  fourth  combatant 
took  him  by  the  left  leg,  and  tumbled  him  down  on  the 
other  side.  He  was  conducted  back  with  scornful  shouts 
to  his  tent,  where,  according  to  the  law,  he  was  to  pass 
the  night;  and  as  he  limped  along  with  great  difficulty 
he  said,  "  What  an  adventure  for  such  a  man  as  I ! 

The  other  knights  acquitted  themselves  with  greater 
ability  and  success.  Some  of  them  conquered  two  com- 
batants; a  few  of  them  vanquished  three;  but  none  but 
Prince  Otamus  conquered  four.   At  last  Zadig  fought  him 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

in  his  turn.  He  successively  threw  four  knights  off  their 
saddles  with  all  the  grace  imaginable.  It  then  remained 
to  be  seen  who  should  be  conqueror,  Otamus  or  Zadig. 
The  arms  of  the  first  were  gold  and  blue,  with  a  plume 
of  the  same  color;  those  of  the  last  were  white.  The  wishes 
of  all  the  spectators  were  divided  between  the  knight  in 
blue  and  the  knight  in  white.  The  queen,  whose  heart 
was  in  a  violent  palpitation,  offered  prayers  to  Heaven  for 
the  success  of  the  white  color. 

The  two  champions  made  their  passes  and  vaults  with 
so  much  agility,  they  mutually  gave  and  received  such  dex- 
terous blows  with  their  lances,  and  sat  so  firmly  in  their 
saddles,  that  everybody  but  the  queen  wished  there  might 
be  two  kings  in  Babylon.  At  length,  their  horses  being 
tired  and  their  lances  broken,  Zadig  had  recourse  to  this 
stratagem:  He  passes  behind  the  blue  prince;  springs  upon 
the  buttocks  of  his  horse;  seizes  him  by  the  middle; 
throws  him  on  the  earth;  places  himself  in  the  saddle;  and 
wheels  around  Otamus  as  he  lay  extended  on  the  ground. 
All  the  amphitheater  cried  out,  "  Victory  to  the  white 
knight!'' 

Otamus  rises  in  a  violent  passion,  and  draws  his  sword; 
Zadig  leaps  from  his  horse  with  his  saber  in  his  hand. 
Both  of  them  are  now  on  the  ground,  engaged  in  a  new 
combat,  where  strength  and  agility  triumph  by  turns.  The 
plumes  of  their  helmets,  the  studs  of  their  bracelets,  the 
rings  of  their  armor,  are  driven  to  a  great  distance  by 
the  violence  of  a  thousand  furious  blows.  They  strike 
with  the  point  and  the  edge;  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  on 
the  head,  on  the  breast;  they  retreat;  they  advance;  they 
measure  swords;  they  close;  they  seize  each  other;  they 
bend  Hke  serpents;  they  attack  like  lions;  and  the  fire 
•every  moment  flashes  from  their  blows. 

At  last  Zadig,  having  recovered  his  spirits,  stops ;  makes 
a  feint ;  leaps  upon  Otamus ;  throws  him  on  the  ground 
and  disarms  him ;  and  Otamus  cries  out,  "  It  is  thou  alone, 
O  white  knight,  that  oughtest  to  reign  over  Babylon!" 
The  queen  was  now  at  the  height  of  her  joy.   The  knight 

248 


Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

in  blue  armor  and  the  knight  in  white  were  conducted 
each  to  his  own  apartment,  as  well  as  all  the  others,  ac- 
cording to  the  intention  of  the  law.  Mutes  came  to  wait 
upon  them  and  to  serve  them  at  table.  It  may  be  easily- 
supposed  that  the  queen's  little  mute  waited  upon  Zadig. 
They  were  then  left  to  themselves  to  enjoy  the  sweets  of 
repose  till  next  morning,  at  which  time  the  conqueror  was 
to  bring  his  device  to  the  grand  magi,  to  compare  it  with 
that  which  he  had  left,  and  make  himself  known. 

Zadig,  though  deeply  in  love,  was  so  much  fatigued 
that  he  could  not  help  sleeping.  Itobad,  who  lay  near  him, 
never  closed  his  eyes.  He  arose  in  the  night,  entered  his 
apartment,  took  the  white  arms  and  the  device  of  Zadig, 
and  put  his  green  armor  in  their  place.  At  break  of  day 
he  went  boldly  to  the  grand  magi  to  declare  that  so  great 
a  man  as  he  was  conqueror.  This  was  little  expected; 
however,  he  was  proclaimed  while  Zadig  was  still  asleep. 
Astarte,  surprised  and  filled  with  despair,  returned  to 
Babylon.  The  amphitheater  was  almost  empty  when 
Zadig  awoke;  he  sought  for  his  arms,  but  could  find  none 
but  the  green  armor.  With  this  he  was  obliged  to  cover 
himself,  having  nothing  else  near  him.  Astonished  and 
enraged,  he  put  it  on  in  a  furious  passion,  and  advanced  in 
this  equipage. 

The  people  that  still  remained  in  the  amphitheater  and 
the  circus  received  him  with  hoots  and  hisses.  They  sur- 
rounded him  and  insulted  him  to  his  face.  Never  did  man 
sufTer  such  cruel  mortifications.  He  lost  his  patience; 
with  his  saber  he  dispersed  such  of  the  populace  as  dared 
to  affront  him;  but  he  knew  not  what  course  to  take.  He 
could  not  see  the  queen;  he  could  not  claim  the  white 
armor  she  had  sent  him  without  exposing  her;  and  thus, 
while  she  was  plunged  in  grief,  he  was  filled  with  fury 
and  distraction.  He  walked  on  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates, 
fully  persuaded  that  his  star  had  destined  him  to  inevi- 
table misery,  and  resolving  in  his  own  mind  all  his  mis- 
fortunes, from  the  adventure  of  the  woman  who  hated 
one-eyed  men  to  that  of  his  armor.    "This,''  said  he, 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

"  is  the  consequence  of  my  having  slept  too  long.  Had  I 
slept  less,  I  should  now  have  been  King  of  Babylon  and  in 
possession  of  Astarte.  Knowledge,  virtue,  and  courage 
have  hitherto  served  only  to  make  me  miserable/'  He 
then  let  fall  some  secret  murmurings  against  Providence, 
and  was  tempted  to  believe  that  the  world  was  governed 
by  a  cruel  destiny,  which  oppressed  the  good  and  pros- 
pered knights  in  green  armor.  One  of  his  greatest 
mortifications  was  his  being  obliged  to  wear  that  green 
armor  which  had  exposed  him  to  such  contumelious  treat- 
ment. A  merchant  happening  to  pass  by,  he  sold  it  to 
him  for  a  trifle  and  bought  a  gown  and  a  long  bonnet. 
In  this  garb  he  proceeded  along  the  banks  of  the  Eu- 
phrates, filled  with  despair,  and  secretly  accusing  Provi- 
dence, which  thus  continued  to  persecute  him  with  un- 
remitting severity. 

THE  HERMIT 

While  he  was  thus  sauntering  he  met  a  hermit,  whose 
white  and  venerable  beard  hung  down  to  his  girdle.  He 
held  a  book  in  his  hand,  which  he  read  with  great  atten- 
tion. Zadig  stopped,  and  made  him  a  profound  obeisance. 
The  hermit  returned  the  compliment  with  such  a  noble 
and  engaging  air,  that  Zadig  had  the  curiosity  to  enter 
into  conversation  with  him.  He  asked  him  what  book  it 
was  that  he  had  been  reading?  It  is  the  Book  of  Desti- 
nies," said  the  hermit;  "  wouldst  thou  choose  to  look  into 
it? He  put  the  book  into  the  hands  of  Zadig,  who,  thor- 
oughly versed  as  he  was  in  several  languages,  could  not 
decipher  a  single  character  of  it.  This  only  redoubled  his 
curiosity. 

"  Thou  seemest,"  said  this  good  father,  "  to  be  in  great 
distress." 

Alas,"  replied  Zadig,  "  I  have  but  too  much  reason." 

If  thou  wilt  permit  me  to  accompany  thee,"  resumed 
the  old  man,  perhaps  I  may  be  of  some  service  to  thee. 
I  have  often  poured  the  balm  of  consolation  into  the  bleed- 
ing heart  of  the  unhappy." 

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Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

Zadig  felt  himself  inspired  with  respect  for  the  air,  the 
beard,  and  the  book  of  the  hermit.  He  found,  in  the  course 
of  the  conversation,  that  he  was  possessed  of  superior  de- 
grees of  knowledge.  The  hermit  talked  of  fate,  of  justice, 
of  morals,  of  the  chief  good,  of  human  weakness,  and  of 
virtue  and  vice,  with  such  a  spirited  and  moving  eloquence, 
that  Zadig  felt  himself  drawn  toward  him  by  an  irresistible 
charm.  He  earnestly  entreated  the  favor  of  his  company 
till  their  return  to  Babylon. 

I  ask  the  same  favor  of  thee,"  said  the  old  man; swear 
to  me  by  Oromazes,  that  whatever  I  do,  thou  wilt  not 
leave  me  for  some  days."  Zadig  swore,  and  they  set  out 
together. 

In  the  evening  the  two  travelers  arrived  in  a  superb  castle. 
The  hermit  entreated  a  hospitable  reception  for  himself  and 
the  young  man  who  accompanied  him.  The  porter,  whom 
one  might  have  easily  mistaken  for  a  great  lord,  introduced 
them  with  a  kind  of  disdainful  civility.  He  presented  them 
to  a  principal  domestic,  who  showed  them  his  master's 
magnificent  apartments.  They  were  admitted  to  the  lower 
end  of  the  table,  without  being  honored  with  the  least  mark 
of  regard  by  the  lord  of  the  castle;  but  they  were  served, 
like  the  rest,  with  delicacy  and  profusion.  They  were  then 
presented  with  water  to  wash  their  hands,  in  a  golden 
basin  adorned  with  emeralds  and  rubies.  At  last  they  were 
conducted  to  bed  in  a  beautiful  apartment;  and  in  the 
morning  a  domestic  brought  each  of  them  a  piece  of  gold, 
after  which  they  took  their  leave  and  departed. 

"  The  master  of  the  house,"  said  Zadig,  as  they  were 
proceeding  on  the  journey,  "  appears  to  be  a  generous 
man,  though  somewhat  too  proud;  he  nobly  performs  the 
duties  of  hospitality."  At  that  instant  he  observed  that  a 
kind  of  large  packet,  which  the  hermit  had,  was  filled  and 
distended;  and  upon  looking  more  narrowly  he  found  that 
it  contained  the  golden  basin  adorned  with  precious  stones, 
which  the  hermit  had  stolen.  He  durst  not  take  any  notice 
of  it,  but  he  was  filled  with  a  strange  surprise. 

About  noon,  the  hermit  came  to  the  door  of  a  paltry 

251 


French  Mystery  Stories 

house  inhabited  by  a  rich  miser,  and  begged  the  favor  of 
an  hospitable  reception  for  a  few  hours.  An  old  servant, 
in  a  tattered  garb,  received  them  with  a  blunt  and  rude  air, 
and  led  them  into  the  stable,  where  he  gave  them  some 
rotten  olives,  moldy  bread,  and  sour  beer.  The  hermit  ate 
and  drank  with  as  much  seeming  satisfaction  as  he  had 
done  the  evening  before;  and  then  addressing  himself  to  the 
old  servant,  who  watched  them  both,  to  prevent  their  steal- 
ing anything,  and  rudely  pressed  them  to  depart,  he  gave 
him  the  two  pieces  of  gold  he  had  received  in  the  morning, 
and  thanked  him  for  his  great  civility. 

"  Pray,"  added  he,  allow  me  to  speak  to  thy  master.'" 
The  servant,  filled  with  astonishment,  introduced  the  two 
travelers.  "  Magnificent  lord,"  said  the  hermit,  I  cannot 
but  return  thee  my  most  humble  thanks  for  the  noble  man- 
ner in  which  thou  hast  entertained  us.  Be  pleased  to  accept 
this  golden  basin  as  a  small  mark  of  my  gratitude."  The 
miser  started,  and  was  ready  to  fall  backward;  but  the 
hermit,  without  giving  him  time  to  recover  from  his  sur- 
prise, instantly  departed  with  his  young  fellow  traveler. 

Father,"  said  Zadig,  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this? 
Thou  seemest  to  me  to  be  entirely  dififerent  from  other 
men;  thou  stealest  a  golden  basin  adorned  with  precious 
stones  from  a  lord  who  received  thee  magnificently,  and 
givest  it  to  a  miser  who  treats  thee  with  indignity." 

"  Son,"  replied  the  old  man,  "  this  magnificent  lord,  who 
receives  strangers  only  from  vanity  and  ostentation,  will 
hereby  be  rendered  more  wise;  and  the  miser  will  learn  to 
practice  the  duties  of  hospitality.  Be  surprised  at  nothing, 
but  follow  me." 

Zadig  knew  not  as  yet  whether  he  was  in  company  with 
the  most  fooHsh  or  the  most  prudent  of  mankind;  but  the 
hermit  spoke  with  such  an  ascendancy,  that  Zadig,  who  was 
moreover  bound  by  his  oath,  could  not  refuse  to  follow  him. 

In  the  evening  they  arrived  at  a  house  built  with  equal 
elegance  and  simplicity,  where  nothing  favored  either  of 
prodigality  or  avarice.  The  master  of  it  was  a  philosopher, 
who  had  retired  from  the  world,  and  who  cultivated  in 

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Frangois  Marie  Arotiet  de  Voltaire 

peace  the  study  of  virtue  and  wisdom,  without  any  of  that 
rigid  and  morose  severity  so  commonly  to  be  found  in  men 
of  his  character.  He  had  chosen  to  build  this  country 
house,  in  which  he  received  strangers  with  a  generosity 
free  from  ostentation.  He  went  himself  to  meet  the  two 
travelers,  whom  he  led  into  a  commodious  apartment,  where 
he  desired  them  to  repose  themselves  a  little.  Soon  after 
he  came  and  invited  them  to  a  decent  and  well-ordered 
repast  during  which  he  spoke  with  great  judgment  of  the 
last  revolutions  in  Babylon.  He  seemed  to  be  strongly  at- 
tached to  the  queen,  and  wished  that  Zadig  had  appeared 
in  the  Hsts  to  dispute  the  crown.  But  the  people,''  added 
he,    do  not  deserve  to  have  such  a  king  as  Zadig." 

Zadig  blushed,  and  felt  his  griefs  redoubled.  They 
agreed,  in  the  course  of  the  conversation,  that  the  things 
of  this  world  did  not  always  answer  the  wishes  of  the  wise. 
The  hermit  still  maintained  that  the  ways  of  Providence 
were  inscrutable;  and  that  men  were  in  the  wrong  to  judge 
of  a  whole,  of  which  they  understood  but  the  smallest  part. 

They  talked  of  passions.  "  Ah,"  said  Zadig,  "  how  fatal 
are  their  effects!  " 

They  are  in  the  winds,"  replied  the  hermit,  that  swell 
the  sails  of  the  ship;  it  is  true,  they  sometimes  sink  her, 
but  without  them  she  could  not  sail  at  all.  The  bile  makes 
us  sick  and  choleric;  but  without  bile  we  could  not  live. 
Everything  in  this  world  is  dangerous,  and  yet  everything 
is  necessary." 

The  conversation  turned  on  pleasure ;  and  the  hermit 
proved  that  it  was  a  present  bestowed  by  the  deity.  "  For," 
said  he,  man  cannot  give  himself  either  sensations  or 
ideas;  he  receives  all;  and  pain  and  pleasure  proceed  from 
a  foreign  cause  as  well  as  his  being." 

Zadig  was  surprised  to  see  a  man,  who  had  been  guilty 
of  such  extravagant  actions,  capable  of  reasoning  with  so 
much  judgment  and  propriety.  At  last,  after  a  conversa- 
tion equally  entertaining  and  instructive,  the  host  led  back 
his  two  guests  to  their  apartment,  blessing  Heaven  for  hav- 
ing sent  him  two  men  possessed  of  so  much  wisdom  and 

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French  Mystery  Stories 

virtue.  He  offered  them  money  with  such  an  easy  and 
noble  air  as  could  not  possibly  give  any  offense.  The  her- 
mit refused  it,  and  said  that  he  must  now  take  his  leave  of 
him,  as  he  set  out  for  Babylon  before  it  was  light.  Their 
parting  was  tender;  Zadig  especially  felt  himself  filled  with 
esteem  and  affection  for  a  man  of  such  an  amiable  character. 

When  he  and  the  hermit  were  alone  in  their  apartment, 
they  spent  a  long  time  in  praising  their  host.  At  break  of 
day  the  old  man  awakened  his  companion.  "  We  must  now 
depart,''  said  he,  but  while  all  the  family  are  still  asleep, 
I  will  leave  this  man  a  mark  of  my  esteem  and  affection." 
So  saying,  he  took  a  candle  and  set  fire  to  the  house. 

Zadig,  struck  with  horror,  cried  aloud,  and  endeavored 
to  hinder  him  from  committing  such  a  barbarous  action; 
but  the  hermit  drew  him  away  by  a  superior  force,  and 
the  house  was  soon  in  flames.  The  hermit,  who,  with  his 
companion,  was  already  at  a  considerable  distance,  looked 
back  to  the  conflagration  with  great  tranquillity. 

"  Thanks  be  to  God,"  said  he,  the  house  of  my  dear 
host  is  entirely  destroyed!   Happy  man!  " 

At  these  words  Zadig  was  at  once  tempted  to  burst  out 
a-laughing,  to  reproach  the  reverend  father,  to  beat  him, 
and  to  run  away.  But  he  did  none  of  all  of  these,  for  still 
subdued  by  the  powerful  ascendancy  of  the  hermit,  he  fol- 
lowed him,  in  spite  of  himself,  to  the  next  stage. 

This  was  at  the  house  of  a  charitable  and  virtuous  widow, 
who  had  a  nephew  fourteen  years  of  age,  a  handsome  and 
promising  youth,  and  her  only  hope.  She  performed  the 
honors  of  her  house  as  well  as  she  could.  Next  day,  she 
ordered  her  nephew  to  accompany  the  strangers  to  a 
bridge,  which  being  lately  broken  down,  was  become  ex- 
tremely dangerous  in  passing.  The  young  man  walked  be- 
fore them  with  great  alacrity.  As  they  were  crossing  the 
bridge,  Come,"  said  the  hermit  to  the  youth,  I  must 
show  my  gratitude  to  thy  aunt."  He  then  took  him  by  the 
hair  and  plunged  him  into  the  river.  The  boy  sunk,  ap- 
peared again  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  was  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  current. 

254 


Frangois  Marie  Aronet  de  Voltaire 

**  O  monster!  O  thou  most  wicked  of  mankind!  cried 
Zadig. 

TI^ou  promisedst  to  behave  with  greater  patience/'  said 
the  hermit,  interrupting  him.  "  Know  that  under  the  ruins 
of  that  house  which  Providence  hath  set  on  fire  the  master 
hath  found  an  immense  treasure.  Know  that  this  young 
man,  whose  Hfe  Providence  hath  shortened,  would  have  as- 
sassinated his  aunt  in  the  space  of  a  year,  and  thee  in  that 
of  two." 

Who  told  thee  so,  barbarian?''  cried  Zadig;  "and 
though  thou  hadst  read  this  event  in  thy  Book  of  Desti- 
nies, art  thou  permitted  to  drown  a  youth  who  never  did 
thee  any  harm?  " 

While  the  Babylonian  was  thus  exclaiming,  he  observed 
that  the  old  man  had  no  longer  a  beard,  and  that  his  coun- 
tenance assumed  the  features  and  complexion  of  youth. 
The  hermit's  habit  disappeared,  and  four  beautiful  wings 
covered  a  majestic  body  resplendent  with  Hght. 

O  sent  of  heaven!  O  divine  angel!  "  cried  Zadig,  hum- 
bly prostrating  himself  on  the  ground,  hast  thou  then 
descended  from  the  Empyrean  to  teach  a  weak  mortal  to 
submit  to  the  eternal  decrees  of  Providence?  " 

Men,"  said  the  angel  Jesrad,  judge  of  all  without 
knowing  anything;  and,  of  all  men,  thou  best  deservest  to 
be  enlightened." 

Zadig  begged  to  be  permitted  to  speak.  "  I  distrust 
myself,"  said  he,  but  may  I  presume  to  ask  the  favor  of 
thee  to  clear  up  one  doubt  that  still  remains  in  my  mind? 
Would  it  not  have  been  better  to  have  corrected  this  youth, 
and  made  him  virtuous,  than  to  have  drowned  him?" 

"  Had  he  been  virtuous,"  replied  Jesrad,  "  and  enjoyed  a 
longer  life,  it  would  have  been  his  fate  to  be  assassinated 
himself,  together  with  the  wife  he  would  have  married,  and 
the  child  he  would  have  had  by  her." 

But  why,"  said  Zadig, is  it  necessary  that  there  should 
be  crimes  and  misfortunes,  and  that  these  misfortunes 
should  fall  on  the  good?" 

"The  wicked,"  replied  Jesrad,  "are  always  unhappy; 


French  Mystery  Stories 

they  serve  to  prove  and  try  the  small  number  of  the  just 
that  are  scattered  through  the  earth;  and  there  is  no  evil 
that  is  not  productive  of  some  good." 

But/'  said  Zadig,  suppose  there  were  nothing  but 
good  and  no  evil  at  all." 

"  Then,"  replied  Jesrad,  "  this  earth  would  be  another 
earth.  The  chain  of  events  would  be  ranged  in  another 
order  and  directed  by  wisdom;  hut  this  other  order,  which 
would  be  perfect,  can  exist  only  in  the  eternal  abode  of 
the  Supreme  Being,  to  which  no  evil  can  approach.  The 
Deity  hath  created  millions  of  worlds,  among  which  there 
is  not  one  that  resembles  another.  This  immense  variety 
is  the  effect  of  His  immense  power.  There  are  not  two 
leaves  among  the  trees  of  the  earth,  nor  two  globes  in  the 
unlimited  expanse  of  heaven  that  are  exactly  similar;  and 
all  that  thou  seest  on  the  little  atom  in  which  thou  art 
born,  ought  to  be  in  its  proper  time  and  place,  according 
to  the  immutable  decree  of  Him  who  comprehends  all. 
Men  think  that  this  child  who  hath  just  perished  is  fallen 
into  the  water  by  chance;  and  that  it  is  by  the  same  chance 
that  this  house  is  burned;  but  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
chance;  all  is  either  a  trial,  or  a  punishment,  or  a  reward, 
or  a  foresight.  Remember  the  fisherman  who  thought 
•himself  the  most  wretched  of  mankind.  Oromazes  sent 
thee  to  change  his  fate.  Cease,  then,  frail  mortal,  to  dispute 
against  what  thou  oughtest  to  adore." 

But,"  said  Zadig — as  he  pronounced  the  word  "  But," 
the  angel  took  his  flight  toward  the  tenth  sphere.  Zadig 
on  his  knees  adored  Providence,  and  submitted.  The  angel 
cried  to  him  from  on  high,  "  Direct  thy  course  toward 
Babylon." 

THE  ENIGMAS 

Zadig,  entranced,  as  it  were,  and  like  a  man  about  whose 
head  the  thunder  had  burst,  walked  at  random.  He  en- 
tered Babylon  on  the  very  day  when  those  who  had  fought 
at  the  tournaments  were  assembled  in  the  grand  vestibule 
of  the  palace  to  explain  the  enigmas  and  to  answer  the 

256 


Frangois  Marie  Arouct  de  Voltaire 

questions  of  the  grand  magi.  All  the  knights  were  al- 
ready arrived,  except  the  knight  in  green  armor.  As  soon 
as  Zadig  appeared  in  the  city  the  people  crowded  round 
him ;  every  eye  was  fixed  on  him ;  every  mouth  blessed 
him,  and  every  heart  wished  him  the  empire.  The  envious 
man  saw  him  pass;  he  frowned  and  turned  aside.  The 
people  conducted  him  to  the  place  where  the  assembly  was 
held.  The  queen,  who  was  informed  of  his  arrival,  became 
a  prey  to  the  most  violent  agitations  of  hope  and  fear.  She 
was  filled  with  anxiety  and  apprehension.  She  could  not 
comprehend  why  Zadig  was  without  arms,  nor  why  Itobad 
wore  the  white  armor.  A  confused  murmur  arose  at  the 
sight  of  Zadig.  They  were  equally  surprised  and  charmed 
to  see  him ;  but  none  but  the  knights  who  had  fought  were 
permitted  to  appear  in  the  assembly. 

"  I  have  fought  as  well  as  the  other  knights,"  said  Zadig,. 

but  another  here  wears  my  arms  ;  and  while  I  wait  for  the 
honor  of  proving  the  truth  of  my  assertion,  I  demand  the 
liberty  of  presenting  myself  to  explain  the  enigmas.''  The 
question  was  put  to  the  vote,  and  his  reputation  for  probity 
was  still  so  deeply  impressed  in  their  minds,  that  they  ad~ 
mitted  him  without  scruple. 

The  first  question  proposed  by  the  grand  magi  was : 

What,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  is  the  longest  and  the 
shortest,  the  swiftest  and  the  slowest^  the  most  divisible 
and  the  most  extended,  the  most  neglected  and  the  most 
regretted,  without  which  nothing  can  be  done,  which  de- 
vours all  that  is  little,  and  enlivens  all  that  is  great?  " 

Itobad  was  to  speak.  He  replied  that  so  great  a  man  as 
he  did  not  understand  enigmas,  and  that  it  was  sufficient 
for  him  to  have  conquered  by  his  strength  and  valor. 
Some  said  that  the  meaning  of  the  enigmas  was  Fortune ;, 
some,  the  Earth ;  and  others  the  Light.  Zadig  said  that  it 
was  Time.  Nothing,''  added  he,  is  longer,  since  it  is  the 
measure  of  eternity ;  nothing  is  shorter,  since  it  is  insuffi- 
cient for  the  accomplishment  of  our  projects ;  nothing  more 
slow  to  him  that  expects,  nothing  more  rapid  to  him  that 
enjoys;  in  greatness,  it  extends  to  infinity;  in  smallness,. 

257 


French  Mystery  Stories 

it  is  infinitely  divisible ;  all  men  neglect  it ;  all  regret  the 
loss  of  it;  nothing  can  be  done  without  it;  it  consigns  to 
oblivion  whatever  is  unworthy  of  being  transmitted  to  pos- 
terity, and  it  immortalizes  such  actions  as  are  truly  great/' 
The  assembly  acknowledged  that  Zadig  was  in  the  right. 

The  next  question  was :  What  is  the  thing  which  we 
receive  without  thanks,  which  we  en^'oy  without  knowing 
how,  which  we  give  to  others  when  we  know  not  where 
we  are,  and  which  we  lose  without  perceiving  it  ?  " 

Everyone  gave  his  own  explanation.  Zadig  alone 
guessed  that  it  was  Life,  and  explained  all  the  other  enig- 
mas with  the  same  facility.  Itobad  always  said  that  noth- 
ing was  more  easy,  and  that  he  could  have  answered  them 
with  the  same  readiness  had  he  chosen  to  have  given  him- 
self the  trouble.  Questions  were  then  proposed  on  justice, 
on  the  sovereign  good,  and  on  the  art  of  government. 
Zadig's  answers  were  judged  to  be  the  most  solid.  What 
a  pity  is  it,''  said  they,  that  such  a  great  genius  should 
be  so  bad  a  knight ! '' 

Illustrious  lords,"  said  Zadig,  "  I  have  had  the  honor 
of  conquering  in  the  tournaments.  It  is  to  me  that  the 
white  armor  belongs.  Lord  Itobad  took  possession  of  it 
during  my  sleep.  He  probably  thought  that  it  would  fit 
him  better  than  the  green.  I  am  now  ready  to  prove  in 
your  presence,  with  my  gown  and  sword,  against  all  that 
beautiful  white  armor  which  he  took  from  me,  that  it  is  I 
who  have  had  the  honor  of  conquering  the  brave  Otamus." 

Itobad  accepted  the  challenge  with  the  greatest  confi- 
dence. He  never  doubted  but  what,  armed  as  he  was, 
with  a  helmet,  a  cuirass,  and  brassarts,  he  would  obtain 
an  easy  victory  over  a  champion  in  a  cap  and  nightgown. 
Zadig  drew  his  sword,  saluting  the  queen,  who  looked  at 
him  with  a  mixture  of  fear  and  joy.  Itobad  drew  his  with- 
out saluting  anyone.  He  rushed  upon  Zadig,  like  a  man 
who  had  nothing  to  fear;  he  was  ready  to  cleave  him  in 
two.  Zadig  knew  how  to  ward  ofif  his  blows,  by  opposing 
the  strongest  part  of  his  sword  to  the  weakest  of  that  of 
his  adversarv,  in  such  a  manner  that  Itobad's  sword  was 

258 


Frangois  Marie  Arouet  de  Voltaire 

broken.  Upon  which  Zadig*,  seizing  his  enemy  by  the 
waist,  threw  him  on  the  ground;  and  fixing  the  point  of 
his  sword  at  the  breastplate,  "  Suffer  thyself  to  be  dis- 
armed," said  he,    or  thou  art  a  dead  man." 

Itobad,  always  surprised  at  the  disgraces  that  happened 
to  such  a  man  as  he,  was  obliged  to  yield  to  Zadig,  who 
took  from  him  with  great  composure  his  magnificent  hel- 
met, his  superb  cuirass,  his  fine  brassarts,  his  shining 
cuishes;  clothed  himself  with  them^  and  in  this  dress  ran 
to  throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  Astarte.  Cador  easily 
proved  that  the  armor  belonged  to  Zadig.  He  was  ac- 
knowledged king  by  the  unanimous  consent  of  the  whole 
nation,  and  especially  by  that  of  Astarte,  who,  after  so 
many  calamities,  now  tasted  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  see- 
ing her  lover  worthy,  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world,  to  be 
her  husband.  Itobad  went  home  to  be  called  lord  in  his 
own  house.  Zadig  was  king,  and  was  happy.  The  queen 
and  Zadig  adored  Providence.  He  sent  in  search  of  the 
robber  Arbogad,  to  whom  he  gave  an  honorable  post  in 
his  army,  promising  to  advance  him  to  the  first  dignities 
if  he  behaved  like  a  true  warrior,  and  threatening  to  hang 
him  if  he  followed  the  profession  of  a  robber. 

Setoc,  with  the  fair  Almona,  was  called  from  the  heart 
of  Arabia  and  placed  at  the  head  of  the  commerce  of  Baby- 
lon. Cador  was  preferred  and  distinguished  according  to 
his  great  services.  He  was  the  friend  of  the  king;  and 
the  king  was  then  the  only  monarch  on  earth  that  had  a 
friend.    The  Httle  mute  was  not  forgotten. 

But  neither  could  the  beautiful  Semira  be  comforted 
for  having  believed  that  Zadig  would  be  blind  of  an  eye; 
nor  did  Azora  cease  to  lament  her  having  attempted  to 
cut  off  his  nose.  Their  griefs,  however,  he  softened  by  his 
presents.  The  envious  man  died  of  rage  and  shame.  The 
empire  enjoyed  peace,  glory,  and  plenty.  This  was  the 
happiest  age  of  the  earth;  it  was  governed  by  love  and 
justice.  The  people  blessed  Zadig,  and  Zadig  blessed 
Heaven. 


259 


Pedro  de  Alarfon 


The  Nail 
I 

'pHE  thmg  which  is  most  ardently  desired  by  a  man  who 
steps  into  a  stagecoach,  bent  upon  a  long  journey,  is 
that  his  companions  may  be  agreeable,  that  they  may  have 
the  same  tastes,  possibly  the  same  vices,  be  well  educated 
and  know  enough  not  to  be  too  familiar. 

When  I  opened  the  door  of  the  coach  I  felt  fearful  of 
encountering  an  old  woman  sufiering  with  the  asthma,  an 
ugly  one  who  could  not  bear  the  smell  of  tobacco  smoke, 
one  who  gets  seasick  every  time  she  rides  in  a  carriage, 
and  little  angels  who  are  continually  yelling  and  screaming 
for  God  knows  what. 

Sometimes  you  may  have  hoped  to  have  a  beautiful 
woman  for  a  traveling  companion;  for  instance,  a  widow 
of  twenty  or  thirty  years  of  age  (let  us  say,  thirty-six), 
whose  delightful  conversation  will  help  you  pass  away  the 
time.  But  if  you  ever  had  this  idea,  as  a  reasonable  man 
you  would  quickly  dismiss  it,  for  you  know  that  such  good 
fortune  does  not  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  ordinary  mortal. 
These  thoughts  were  in  my  mind  when  I  opened  the  door 
of  the  stagecoach  at  exactly  eleven  o'clock  on  a  stormy 
night  of  the  Autumn  of  1844.  I  had  ticket  No.  2,  and  I 
was  wondering  who  No.  i  might  be.  The  ticket  agent 
had  assured  me  that  No.  3  had  not  been  sold. 

It  was  pitch  dark  within.  When  I  entered  I  said,  "  Good 
evening,"  but  no  answer  came.  "  The  devil !  "  I  said  to 
myself.  Is  my  traveling  companion  deaf,  dumb,  or 
asleep  ?  "  Then  I  said  in  a  louder  tone :  "  Good  evening/' 
but  no  answer  came. 

260 


Pedro  de  Alargon 

All  this  time  the  stagecoach  was  whirHng  along,  drawn 
by  ten  horses. 

I  was  puzzled.  Who  was  my  companion?  Was  it  a 
man?  Was  it  a  woman?  Who  was  the  silent  No.  i,  and, 
whoever  it  might  be,  why  did  he  or  she  not  reply  to  my 
courteous  salutation?  It  would  have  been  well  to  have  lit 
a  match,  but  I  was  not  smoking  then  and  had  none  with 
me.  What  should  I  do?  I  concluded  to  rely  upon  my 
sense  of  feeling,  and  stretched  out  my  hand  to  the  place 
where  No.  i  should  have  been,  wondering  whether  I  would 
touch  a  silk  dress  or  an  overcoat,  but  there  was  nothing 
there.  At  that  moment  a  flash  of  lightning,  herald  of  a 
quickly  approaching  storm,  lit  up  the  night,  and  I  per- 
ceived  that  there  was  no  one  in  the  coach  excepting 
myself.  I  burst  out  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  yet  a 
moment  later  I  could  not  help  wondering  what  had  be- 
come of  No.  I. 

A  half  hour  later  we  arrived  at  the  first  stop,  and  I  was 
just  about  to  ask  the  guard  who  flashed  his  lantern  into 
the  compartment  why  there  was  no  No.  i,  when  she  en- 
tered. In  the  yellow  rays  I  thought  it  was  a  vision :  a  pale, 
graceful,  beautiful  woman,  dressed  in  deep  mourning. 

Here  was  the  fulfillment  of  my  dream,  the  widow  I  had 
hoped  for. 

I  extended  my  hand  to  the  unknown  to  assist  her  into 
the  coach,  and  she  sat  down  beside  me,  murmuring: 

Thank  you,  sir.  Good  evening,"  but  in  a  tone  that  was 
so  sad  that  it  went  to  my  very  heart. 

How  unfortunate,''  I  thought.  There  are  only  fifty 
miles  between  here  and  Malaga.  I  wish  to  heaven  this 
coach  were  going  to  Kamschatka.''  The  guard  slammed 
the  door,  and  we  were  in  darkness.  I  wished  that  the 
storm  would  continue  and  that  we  might  have  a  few  more 
flashes  of  lightning.  But  the  storm  didn't.  It  fled  away, 
leaving  only  a  few  pallid  stars,  whose  light  practically 
amounted  to  nothing.  I  made  a  brave  effort  to  start  a 
conversation. 

"Do  you  feel  well?" 

261 


Spanish  Mystery  Stories 

^'  Are  you  going  to  Malaga  ? 

Did  you  like  the  Alhambra?  " 
"  You  come  from  Granada  ?  " 

Isn't  the  night  damp?" 
To  which  questions  she  respectively  responded: 

Thanks,  very  well/' 
"  Yes." 
"  No,  sir." 
"  Yes !  " 
"  Awful ! " 

It  was  quite  certain  that  my  traveling  companion  was  not 
inclined  to  conversation.  I  tried  to  think  up  something 
original  to  say  to  her,  but  nothing  occurred  to  me,  so  I 
lost  myself  for  the  moment  in  meditation.  Why  had  this 
woman  gotten  on  the  stage  at  the  first  stop  instead  of  at 
Granada?  Why  was  she  alone?  Was  she  married?  Was 
she  really  a  widow  ?  Why  was  she  so  sad  ?  I  certainly  had 
no  right  to  ask  her  any  of  these  questions,  and  yet  she 
interested  me.  How  I  wished  the  sun  would  rise.  In  the 
daytime  one  may  talk  freely,  but  in  the  pitch  darkness  one 
feels  a  certain  oppression,  it  seems  like  taking  an  unfair 
advantage. 

My  unknown  did  not  sleep  a  moment  during  the  night. 
I  could  tell  this  by  her  breathing  and  by  her  sighing.  It 
is  probably  unnecessary  to  add  that  I  did  not  sleep  either. 
Once  I  asked  her:  ''Do  you  feel  ill?"  and  she  replied: 
''  No,  sir,  thank  you.  I  beg  pardon  if  I  have  disturbed  your 
sleep." 

"  Sleep ! "  I  exclaimed  disdainfully.  "  I  do  not  care  to 
sleep.    I  feared  you  were  sufifering." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  that  contradicted 
her  words,  ''  I  am  not  suffering." 

At  last  the  sun  rose.  How  beautiful  she  was !  I  mean 
the  woman,  not  the  sun.  What  deep  suffering  had  lined 
her  face  and  lurked  in  the  depths  of  her  beautiful  eyes ! 

She  was  elegantly  dressed  and  evidently  belonged  to  a 
^ood  family.  Every  gesture  bore  the  imprint  of  distinction. 
She  was  the  kind  of  a  woman  you  expect  to  see  in  the 

2G2 


Pedro  de  Alargon 

principal  box  at  the  opera,  resplendent  with  jewels,  sur- 
rounded by  admirers. 

We  breakfasted  at  Colmenar.  After  that  my  companion 
became  more  confidential,  and  I  said  to  myself  when  we 
again  entered  the  coach :  Philip,  you  have  met  your  fate. 
It's  now  or  never." 

II 

I  REGRETTED  the  very  first  word  I  mentioned  to  her  re- 
garding my  feelings.  She  became  a  block  of  ice,  and  I 
lost  at  once  all  that  I  might  have  gained  in  her  good  graces. 
Still  she  answered  me  very  kindly :  "  It  is  not  because  it  is 
you,  sir,  who  speak  to  me  of  love,  but  love  itself  is  some- 
thing which  I  hold  in  horror.'' 

"  But  why,  dear  lady?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Because  my  heart  is  dead.  Because  I  have  loved  to 
the  point  of  delirium,  and  I  have  been  deceived." 

I  felt  that  I  should  talk  to  her  in  a  philosophic  way  and 
there  were  a  lot  of  platitudes  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue,  but 
I  refrained.  I  knew  that  she  meant  what  she  said.  When 
we  arrived  at  Malaga,  she  said  to  me  in  a  tone  I  shall  never 
forget  as  long  as  I  live :  I  thank  you  a  thousand  times 
for  your  kind  attention  during  the  trip,  and  hope  you  will 
forgive  me  if  I  do  not  tell  you  my  name  and  address." 

"  Do  you  mean  then  that  we  shall  not  meet  again  ?  " 

"  Never !  And  you,  especially,  should  not  regret  it." 
And  then  with  a  smile  that  was  utterly  without  joy  she  ex- 
tended her  exquisite  hand  to  me  and  said :  Pray  to  God 
for  me." 

I  pressed  her  hand  and  made  a  low  bow.  She  entered  a 
handsome  victoria  which  was  awaiting  her,  and  as  it  moved 
away  she  bowed  to  me  again. 

Two  months  later  I  met  her  again. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I  was  jogging  along  in 
an  old  cart  on  the  road  that  leads  to  Cordoba.  The  object 
of  my  journey  was  to  examine  some  land  which  I  owned 
in  that  neighborhood  and  pass  three  or  four  weeks  with 

263 


Spanish  Mystery  Stories 

one  of  the  judges  of  the  Supreme  Court,  who  was  an  in- 
timate friend  of  mine  and  had  been  my  schoolmate  at  the 
University  of  Granada. 

He  received  me  with  open  arms.  As  I  entered  his  hand- 
some house  I  could  but  note  the  perfect  taste  and  elegance 
of  the  furniture  and  decorations. 

Ah,  Zarto,"  I  said,  you  have  married,  and  you  have 
never  told  me  about  it.  Surely  this  was  not  the  way  to 
treat  a  man  who  loved  you  as  much  as  I  do !  " 

I  am  not  married,  and  what  is  more  I  never  will  marry,'' 
answered  the  judge  sadly. 

"  I  believe  that  you  are  not  married,  dear  boy,  since  you 
say  so,  but  I  cannot  understand  the  declaration  that  you 
never  will.    You  must  be  joking." 

"  I  swear  that  I  am  telling  you  the  truth,''  he  replied. 
But  what  a  metamorphosis !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  You  were 
always  a  partisan  of  marriage,  and  for  the  past  two  years 
you  have  been  writing  to  me  and  advising  me  to  take  a 
life  partner.  Whence  this  wonderful  change,  dear  friend? 
Something  must  have  happened  to  you,  something  unfor- 
tunate, I  fear  ?  " 

"  To  me  ?  "  answered  the  judge  somewhat  embarrassed. 
Yes,  to  you.    Something  has  happened,  and  you  are 
going  to  tell  me  all  about  it.    You  live  here  alone,  have 
practically  buried  yourself  in  this  great  house.    Come,  tell 
tne  everything." 

The  judge  pressed  my  hand.  Yes,  yes,  you  shall  know 
all.  There  is  no  man  more  unfortunate  than  I  am.  But 
listen,  this  is  the  day  upon  which  all  the  inhabitants  go  to 
the  cemetery,  and  I  must  be  there,  if  only  for  form's  sake. 
Come  with  me.  It  is  a  pleasant  afternoon  and  the  walk 
will  do  you  good,  after  riding  so  long  in  that  old  cart.  The 
location  of  the  cemetery  is  a  beautiful  one,  and  I  am  quite 
sure  you  will  enjoy  the  walk.  On  our  way,  I  will  tell  you 
the  incident  that  ruined  my  life,  and  you  shall  judge  your- 
self whether  I  am  justified  in  my  hatred  of  women." 

As  together  we  walked  along  the  flower-bordered  road, 
my  friend  told  me  the  following  story : 

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Pedro  de  Alargon 

Two  years  ago  when  I  was  Assistant  District  Attorney  in 

 ,  I  obtained  permission  from  my  chief  to  spend  a 

month  in  Sevilla.  In  the  hotel  where  I  lodged  there  was 
a  beautiful  young  woman  who  passed  for  a  widow  but 
whose  origin,  as  well  as  her  reasons  for  staying  in  that 
town,  were  a  mystery  to  all.  Her  installation,  her  wealth, 
her  total  lack  of  friends  or  acquaintances  and  the  sadness 
of  her  expression,  together  with  her  incomparable  beauty, 
gave  rise  to  a  thousand  conjectures. 

Her  rooms  were  directly  opposite  mine,  and  I  frequently 
met  her  in  the  hall  or  on  the  stairway,  only  too  glad  to 
have  the  chance  of  bowing  to  her.  She  was  unapproach- 
able, however,  and  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  secure  an 
introduction.  Two  weeks  later,  fate  was  to  afford  me  the 
opportunity  of  entering  her  apartment.  I  had  been  to  the 
theater  that  night,  and  when  I  returned  to  my  room  I 
thoughtlessly  opened  the  door  of  her  apartment  instead  of 
that  of  my  own.  The  beautiful  woman  was  reading  by  the 
light  of  the  lamp  and  started  when  she  saw  me.  I  was  so 
embarrassed  by  my  mistake  that  for  a  moment  I  could 
only  stammer  unintelligible  words.  My  confusion  was  so 
evident  that  she  could  not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  I  had 
made  a  mistake.  I  turned  to  the  door,  intent  upon  reliev- 
ing her  of  my  presence  as  quickly  as  possible,  when  she 
said  with  the  most  exquisite  courtesy :  In  order  to  show 
you  that  I  do  not  doubt  your  good  faith  and  that  Fm  not 
at  all  offended,  I  beg  that  you  will  call  upon  me  again,  in- 
tentionally." 

Three  days  passed  before  I  got  up  sufficient  courage  to 
accept  her  invitation.  Yes,  I  was  madly  in  love  with  her ; 
accustomed  as  I  am  to  analyze  my  own  sensations,  I  knew 
that  my  passion  could  only  end  in  the  greatest  happiness  or 
the  deepest  suffering.  However,  at  the  end  of  the  three  days 
I  went  to  her  apartment  and  spent  the  evening  there.  She 
told  me  that  her  name  was  Blanca,  that  she  was  born  in 
Madrid,  and  that  she  was  a  widow.  She  played  and  sang 
for  me  and  asked  me  a  thousand  questions  about  myself, 
my  profession,  my  family,  and  every  word  she  said  increased 

265 


Spanish  Mystery  Stories 

my  love  for  her.  From  that  night  my  soul  was  the  slave 
of  her  soul ;  yes,  and  it  will  be  forever. 

I  called  on  her  again  the  following  night,  and  thereafter 
every  afternoon  and  evening  I  was  with  her.  We  loved 
each  other,  but  not  a  word  of  love  had  ever  been  spoken 
between  us. 

One  evening  she  said  to  me :  "  I  married  a  man  without 
loving  him.  Shortly  after  marriage  I  hated  him.  Now  he 
is  dead.  Only  God  knows  what  I  suffered.  Now  I  under- 
stand what  love  means ;  it  is  either  heaven  or  it  is  hell. 
For  me,  up  to  the  present  time,  it  has  been  hell.'' 

I  could  not  sleep  that  night.  I  lay  awake  thinking 
over  these  last  words  of  Blanca's.  Somehow  this  woman 
frightened  me.   Would  I  be  her  heaven  and  she  my  hell? 

My  leave  of  absence  expired.  I.  could  have  asked  for 
an  extension,  pretending  illness,  but  the  question  was, 
should  I  do  it?   I  consulted  Blanca. 

Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  "  she  said,  taking  my  hand. 

"  Because  I  love  you.  Am  I  doing  wrong  in  loving 
you?" 

No,''  she  said,  becoming  very  pale,  and  then  she  put 
both  arms  about  my  neck  and  her  beautiful  lips  touched 
mine. 

Well,  I  asked  for  another  month  and,  thanks  to  you, 
dear  friend,  it  was  granted.  Never  would  they  have  given 
it  to  me  without  your  influence. 

My  relations  with  Blanca  were  more  than  love ;  they 
were  delirium,  madness,  fanaticism,  call  it  what  you  will. 
Every  day  my  passion  for  her  increased,  and  the  morrow 
seemed  to  open  up  vistas  of  new  happiness.  And  yet  I 
could  not  avoid  feeling  at  times  a  mysterious,  indefinable 
fear.  And  this  I  knew  she  felt  as  well  as  I  did.  We  both 
feared  to  lose  one  another.    One  day  I  said  to  Blanca : 

"  We  must  marry,  as  quickly  as  possible." 

She  gave  me  a  strange  look.   "  You  wish  to  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Blanca,"  I  said,  "  I  am  proud  of  you.  I  want  to 
show  you  to  the  whole  world.  I  love  you  and  I  want 
you,  pure,  noble,  and  saintly  as  you  are." 

266 


Pedro  de  Alargon 

I  cannot  marry  you,"  answered  this  incomprehensible 
woman.   She  would  never  give  a  reason. 

Finally  my  leave  of  absence  expired,  and  I  told  her  that 
on  the  following  day  we  must  separate. 

Separate  ?  It  is  impossible !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  love 
you  too  much  for  that." 

But  you  know,  Blanca,  that  I  worship  you." 

"  Then  give  up  your  profession.  I  am  rich.  We  will 
live  our  lives  out  together,"  she  said,  putting  her  soft  hand 
over  my  mouth  to  prevent  my  answer. 

I  kissed  the  hand  and  then,  gently  removing  it,  I  an- 
swered :  I  would  accept  this  offer  from  my  wife,  although 
it  would  be  a  sacrifice  for  me  to  give  up  my  career ;  but  I 
will  not  accept  it  from  a  woman  who  refuses  to  marry 
me." 

Blanca  remained  thoughtful  for  several  minutes;  then, 
raising  her  head,  she  looked  at  me  and  said  very  quietly, 
but  with  a  determination  which  could  not  be  misunder- 
stood :  "  I  will  be  your  wife,  and  I  do  not  ask  you  to  give 
up  your  profession.  Go  back  to  your  office.  How  long 
will  it  take  you  to  arrange  your  business  matters  and  se- 
cure from  the  government  another  leave  of  absence  to 
return  to  Sevilla  ?  " 
A  month." 

A  month  ?   Well,  here  I  will  await  you.    Return  with- 
in a  month,  and  I  will  be  your  wife.   To-day  is  the  fifteenth 
of  April.    You  will  be  here  on  the  fifteenth  of  May  ?  " 
"  You  may  rest  assured  of  that." 

You  swear  it  ?  " 
"  I  swear  it." 

You  love  me?" 
"  More  than  my  life." 

Go,  then,  and  return.  Farewell." 
I  left  on  the  same  day.  The  moment  I  arrived  home 
I  began  to  arrange  my  house  to  receive  my  bride.  As  you 
know  I  solicited  another  leave  of  absence,  and  so  quickly 
did  I  arrange  my  business  affairs  that  at  the  end  of  two 
weeks  I  was  ready  to  return  to  Sevilla. 

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Spanish  Mystery  Stories 

I  must  tell  you  that  during  this  fortnight  I  did  not  re- 
ceive a  single  letter  from  Blanca,  though  I  wrote  her  six. 
I  started  at  once  for  Sevilla,  arriving  in  that  city  on  the 
thirtieth  of  April,  and  went  at  once  to  the  hotel  where  we 
had  first  met. 

I  learned  that  Blanca  had  left  there  two  days  after  my 
departure  without  telling  anyone  her  destination. 

Imagine  my  indignation,  my  disappointment,  my  suffer- 
ing. She  went  away  without  even  leaving  a  line  for  me, 
without  telling  me  whither  she  was  going.  It  never  oc- 
curred to  me  to  remain  in  Sevilla  until  the  fifteenth  of  May 
to  ascertain  whether  she  would  return  on  that  date.  Three 
days  later  I  took  up  my  court  work  and  strove  to  forget 
her. 

A  few  moments  after  my  friend  Zarco  finished  the  story, 
we  arrived  at  the  cemetery. 

This  is  only  a  small  plot  of  ground  covered  with  a 
veritable  forest  of  crosses  and  surrounded  by  a  low  stone 
wall.  As  often  happens  in  Spain,  when  the  cemeteries  are 
very  small,  it  is  necessary  to  dig  up  one  coffin  in  order 
to  lower  another.  Those  thus  disinterred  are  thrown  in 
a  heap  in  a  corner  of  the  cemetery,  where  skulls  and  bones 
are  piled  up  like  a  haystack.  As  we  were  passing,  Zarco 
and  I  looked  at  the  skulls,  wondering  to  whom  they  could 
have  belonged,  to  rich  or  poor,  noble  or  plebeian. 

Suddenly  the  judge  bent  down,  and  picking  up  a  skull, 
exclaimed  in  astonishment: 

Look  here,  my  friend,  what  is  this  ?  It  is  surely  a 
nail!" 

Yes,  a  long  nail  had  been  driven  in  the  top  of  the  skull 
which  he  held  in  his  hand.  The  nail  had  been  driven  into 
the  head,  and  the  point  had  penetrated  what  had  been  the 
roof  of  the  mouth. 

What  could  this  mean?  He  began  to  conjecture,  and 
soon  both  of  us  felt  filled  with  horror. 

"  I  recognize  the  hand  of  Providence !  "  exclaimed  the 
judge.      A  terrible  crime  has  evidently  been  committed^ 

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Pedro  de  Alargon 

and  would  never  have  come  to  light  had  it  not  been  for 
this  accident.  I  shall  do  my  duty,  and  will  not  rest  until 
I  have  brought  the  assassin  to  the  scaffold." 

Ill 

My  friend  Zarco  was  one  of  the  keenest  criminal  judges 
in  Spain.  Within  a  very  few  days  he  discovered  that  the 
corpse  to  which  this  skull  belonged  had  been  buried  in  a 
rough  wooden  coffin  which  the  grave  digger  had  taken 
home  with  him,  intending  to  use  it  for  firewood.  Fortu- 
nately, the  man  had  not  yet  burned  it  up,  and  on  the  lid 
the  judge  managed  to  decipher  the  initials :  "  A.  G.  R.'' 
together  with  the  date  of  interment.  He  had  at  once 
searched  the  parochial  books  of  every  church  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  a  week  later  found  the  following  entrv: 

In  the  parochial  church  of  San  Sebastian  of  the  village 
of  ,  on  the  4th  of  May,  1843,  the  funeral  rites  as  pre- 
scribed by  our  holy  religion  were  performed  over  the  body 
of  Don  Alfonso  Gutierrez  Romeral,  and  he  was  buried  in 
the  cemetery.  He  was  a  native  of  this  village  and  did 
not  receive  the  holy  sacrament,  nor  did  he  confess,  for  he 
died  suddenly  of  apoplexy  at  the  age  of  thirty-one.  He 
was  married  to  Dona  Gabriela  Zahura  del  Valle,  a  native 
of  Madrid,  and  left  no  issue  him  surviving." 

The  judge  handed  me  the  above  certificate,  duly  certi- 
fied to  by  the  parish  priest,  and  exclaimed :  Now  every- 
thing is  as  clear  as  day,  and  I  am  positive  that  within  a 
week  the  assassin  will  be  arrested.  The  apoplexy  in  this 
case  happens  to  be  an  iron  nail  driven  into  the  man's  head, 
which  brought  quick  and  sudden  death  to  A.  G.  R.  I 
have  the  nail,  and  I  shall  soon  find  the  hammer." 

According  to  the  testimony  of  the  neighbors,  Sefior 
Romeral  was  a  young  and  rich  landowner  who  originally 
came  from  Madrid,  where  he  had  married  a  beautiful  wife ; 
four  months  before  the  death  of  the  husband,  his  wife  had 

269 


Spanish  Mystery  Stories 

gone  to  Madrid  to  pass  a  few  months  with  her  family ;  the 
young  woman  returned  home  about  the  last  day  of  April, 
that  is,  about  three  months  and  a  half  after  she  had  left 
her  husband's  residence  to  go  to  Madrid;  the  death  of 
Senor  Romeral  occurred  about  a  week  after  her  return. 
The  shock  caused  to  the  widow  by  the  sudden  death  of  her 
husband  was  so  great  that  she  became  ill  and  informed  her 
friends  that  she  could  not  continue  to  live  in  the  same 
place  where  everything  recalled  to  her  the  man  she  had 
lost,  and  just  before  the  middle  of  May  she  had  left  for 
Madrid,  ten  or  twelve  days  after  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band. 

The  servants  of  the  deceased  had  testified  that  the 
couple  did  not  live  amicably  together  and  had  frequent 
quarrels ;  that  the  absence  of  three  months  and  a  half 
which  preceded  the  last  eight  days  the  couple  had  lived 
together  was  practically  an  understanding  that  they  were 
to  be  ultimately  separated  on  account  of  mysterious  dis- 
agreements which  had  existed  between  them  from  the  date 
of  their  marriage ;  that  on  the  date  of  the  death  of  the 
deceased,  both  husband  and  wife  were  together  in  the 
former's  bedroom ;  that  at  midnight  the  bell  was  rung  vio- 
lently and  they  heard  the  cries  of  the  wife  ;  that  they  rushed 
to  the  room  and  were  met  at  the  door  by  the  wife,  who 
was  very  pale  and  greatly  perturbed,  and  she  cried  out: 
"  An  apoplexy !  Run  for  a  doctor !  My  poor  husband  is 
dying ! ''  That  when  they  entered  the  room  they  found 
their  master  lying  upon  a  couch,  and  he  was  dead.  The 
doctor  who  was  called  certified  that  Sefior  Romeral  had 
died  of  cerebral  congestion. 

Three  medical  experts  testified  that  death  brought  about 
as  this  one  had  been  could  not  be  distinguished  from 
apoplexy.  The  physician  who  had  been  called  in  had  not 
thought  to  look  for  the  head  of  the  nail,  which  was  con- 
cealed by  the  hair  of  the  victim,  nor  was  he  in  any  sense 
to  blame  for  this  oversight. 

The  judge  immediately  issued  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of 
Doiia  Gabriela  Zahara  del  Valle,  widow  of  Sefior  Romeral. 

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Pedro  de  Alargon 

Tell  me,"  I  asked  the  judge  one  day,  "  do  you  think 
you  will  ever  capture  this  woman  ? 
I'm  positive  of  it/' 
"Why?" 

Because  in  the  midst  of  all  these  routine  criminal  af- 
fairs there  occurs  now  and  then  what  may  be  termed  a 
dramatic  fatality  which  never  fails.  To  put  it  in  another 
way:  when  the  bones  come  out  of  the  tomb  to  testify, 
there  is  very  little  left  for  the  judge  to  do." 

In  spite  of  the  hopes  of  my  friend,  Gabriela  was  not 
found,  and  three  months  later  she  was,  according  to  the 
laws  of  Spain,  tried,  found  guilty,  and  condemned  to  death 
in  her  absence. 

I  returned  home,  not  without  promising  to  be  with  Zarco 
the  following  year. 

IV 

That  winter  I  passed  in  Granada.  One  evening  I  had 
been  invited  to  a  great  ball  given  by  a  prominent  Spanish 
lady.  As  I  was  mounting  the  stairs  of  the  magnificent 
residence,  I  was  startled  by  the  sight  of  a  face  which  was 
easily  distinguishable  even  in  this  crowd  of  southern  beau- 
ties. It  was  she,  my  unknown,  the  mysterious  woman  of 
the  stagecoach,  in  fact.  No.  i,  of  whom  I  spoke  at  the 
beginning  of  this  narrative. 

I  made  my  way  toward  her,  extending  my  hand  in  greet- 
ing.   She  recognized  me  at  once. 

Seiiora,"  I  said,  I  have  kept  my  promise  not  to  search 
for  you.  I  did  not  know  I  would  meet  you  here.  Had 
I  suspected  it  I  would  have  refrained  from  coming,  for 
fear  of  annoying  you.  Now  that  I  am  here,  tell  me 
whether  I  may  recognize  you  and  talk  to  you." 

"  I  see  that  you  are  vindictive,"  she  answered  graciously, 
putting  her  little  hand  in  mine.  "  But  I  forgive  you.  How 
are  you  ?  " 

"  In  truth,  I  don't  know.  My  health— that  is,  the  health 
of  my  soul,  for  you  would  not  ask  me  about  anything  else 

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Spanish  Mystery  Stories 

in  a  ballroom — depends  upon  the  health  of  yours.  What 
I  mean  is  that  I  could  only  be  happy  if  you  are  happy. 
May  I  ask  if  that  wound  of  the  heart  which  you  told  me 
about  when  I  met  you  in  the  stagecoach  has  healed  ?  " 

You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  there  are  wounds  which 
never  heal." 

With  a  graceful  bow  she  turned  away  to  speak  to  an 
acquaintance,  and  I  asked  a  friend  of  mine  who  was  pass- 
ing :    Can  you  tell  me  who  that  woman  is  ?  " 

"  A  South  American  whose  name  is  Mercedes  de  Meri- 
danueva.'' 

On  the  following  day  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  lady,  who 
was  residing  at  that  time  at  the  Hotel  of  the  Seven  Planets. 
The  charming  Mercedes  received  me  as  if  I  were  an  in- 
timate friend,  and  invited  me  to  walk  with  her  through 
the  wonderful  Alhambra  and  subsequently  to  dine  with 
her.  During  the  six  hours  we  were  together  she  spoke  of 
many  things,  and  as  we  always  returned  to  the  subject  of 
disappointed  love,  I  felt  impelled  to  tell  her  the  experience 
of  my  friend,  Judge  Zarco. 

She  listened  to  me  very  attentively  and  when  I  concluded 
she  laughed  and  said :  Let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you  not 
to  fall  in  love  with  women  whom  you  do  not  know.'' 

"  Do  not  think  for  a  moment/'  I  answered,  that  IVe 
invented  this  story." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  doubt  the  truth  of  it.  Perhaps  there  may 
be  a  mysterious  woman  in  the  Hotel  of  the  Seven  Planets 
of  Granada,  and  perhaps  she  doesn't  resemble  the  one  your 
friend  fell  in  love  with  in  Sevilla.  So  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, there  is  no  risk  of  my  falling  in  love  with  anyone, 
for  I  never  speak  three  times  to  the  same  man." 

"  Senora !  That  is  equivalent  to  telling  me  that  you  re- 
fuse to  see  me  again !  " 

"  No,  I  only  wish  to  inform  you  that  I  leave  Granada  to- 
morrow, and  it  is  probable  that  we  will  never  meet  again." 

Never?  You  told  me  that  during  our  memorable  ride 
in  the  stagecoach,  and  you  see  that  you  are  not  a  good 
prophet." 

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Pedro  de  Alargon 

I  noticed  that  she  had  become  very  pale.  She  rose  from 
the  table  abruptly,  saying :  Well,  let  us  leave  that  to  Fate. 
For  my  part  I  repeat  that  I  am  bidding  you  an  eternal 
farewell/' 

She  said  these  last  words  very  solemnly,  and  then  with 
a  graceful  bow,  turned  and  ascended  the  stairway  which  led 
to  the  upper  story  of  the  hotel. 

I  confess  that  I  was  somewhat  annoyed  at  the  disdain- 
ful way  in  which  she  seemed  to  have  terminated  our  ac- 
quaintance, yet  this  feeling  was  lost  in  the  pity  I  felt  for 
her  when  I  noted  her  expression  of  suffering. 

We  had  met  for  the  last  time.  Would  to  God  that  it  had 
been  for  the  last  time !    Man  proposes,  but  God  disposes. 

V 

A  FEW  days  later  business  affairs  brought  me  to  the  town 
wherein  resided  my  friend  Judge  Zarco.  I  found  him  as 
lonely  and  as  sad  as  at  the  time  of  my  last  visit.  He  had 
been  able  to  find  out  nothing  about  Blanca,  but  he  could 
not  forget  her  for  a  moment.  Unquestionably  this  woman 
w^as  his  fate ;  his  heaven  or  his  hell,  as  the  unfortunate 
man  was  accustomed  to  saying. 

We  were  soon  to  learn  that  his  judicial  superstition  was 
to  be  fully  justified. 

The  evening  of  the  day  of  my  arrival  we  were  seated 
in  his  office,  reading  the  last  reports  of  the  police,  who 
had  been  vainly  attempting  to  trace  Gabriela,  when  an  offi- 
cer entered  and  handed  the  judge  a  note  which  read  as 
follows : 

"  In  the  Hotel  of  the  Lion  there  is  a  lady  who  wishes 
to  speak  to  Judge  Zarco." 

"  Who  brought  this  ?  "  asked  the  judge. 
"  A  servant." 
"Who  sent  him?" 
"  He  gave  no  name." 

The  judge  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  smoke  of  his  cigar 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said:    A  woman!    To  see 

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Spanish  Mystery  Stories 

me  ?  I  don't  know  why,  but  this  thing  frightens  me.  What 
do  you  think  of  it,  PhiHp  ?  '' 

"  That  it  is  your  duty  as  a  judge  to  answer  the  call,  of 
course.  Perhaps  she  may  be  able  to  give  you  some  in- 
formation in  regard  to  Gabriela." 

You  are  right,''  answered  Zarco,  rising.  He  put  a  re- 
volver in  his  pocket,  threw  his  cloak  over  his  shoulders  and 
went  out. 

Two  hours  later  he  returned. 

I  saw  at  once  by  his  face  that  some  great  happiness  must 
have  come  to  him.  He  put  his  arms  about  me  and  em- 
braced me  convulsively,  exclaiming :  "  Oh,  dear  friend,  if 
you  only  knew,  if  you  only  knew !  " 

"  But  I  don't  know  anything,"  I  answered.  "  What  on 
earth  has  happened  to  you  ?  " 

I'm  simply  the  happiest  man  in  the  world !  " 
But  what  is  it?" 
"  The  note  that  called  me  to  the  hotel  was  from  her  J* 
"But  from  whom?   From  Gabriela  Zahara?" 
Oh,  stop  such  nonsense !    Who  is  thinking  of  those 
things  now  ?   It  was  she,  I  tell  you,  the  other  one !  " 

In  the  name  of  heaven,  be  calm  and  tell  me  whom  you 
are  talking  about." 

Who  could  it  be  but  Blanca,  my  love,  my  life?  " 
Blanca  ?  "  I  answered  with  astonishment.       But  the 
woman  deceived  you." 

"  Oh,  no ;  that  was  all  a  foolish  mistake  on  my  part." 
Explain  yourself." 
Listen :  Blanca  adores  me !  " 
Oh,  you  think  she  does  ?    Well,  go  on." 
"  When  Blanca  and  I  separated  on  the  fifteenth  of  April, 
it  was  understood  that  we  were  to  meet  again  on  the  fif- 
teenth of  May.    Shortly  after  I  left  she  received  a  letter 
calliug  her  to  Madrid  on  urgent  family  business,  and  she 
did  not  expect  me  back  until  the  fifteenth  of  May,  so  she 
remained  in  Madrid  until  the  first.    But,  as  you  know,  I, 
in  my  impatience  could  not  wait,  and  returned  fifteen  days 
before  I  had  agreed,  and  not  finding  her  at  the  hotel  I 

274 


Pedro  de  Alargon 

jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  deceived  me,  and 

I  did  not  wait.    I  have  gone  through  two  years  of  torment 

and  suffering,  all  due  to  my  own  stupidity." 
But  she  could  have  written  you  a  letter.'' 
She  said  that  she  had  forgotten  the  address." 
"  Ah,  my  poor  friend,"  I  exclaimed,    I  see  that  you  are 

striving  to  convince  yourself.    Well,  so  much  the  better. 

Now,  when  does  the  marriage  take  place?    I  suppose  that 

after  so  long  and  dark  a  night  the  sun  of  matrimony  will 

rise  radiant." 

Don't  laugh,"  exclaimed  Zarco ;  "  you  shall  be  my  best 
man." 

"  With  much  pleasure." 

Man  proposes,  but  God  disposes.  We  were  still  seated 
in  the  library,  chatting  together,  when  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  door.  It  was  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
The  judge  and  I  were  both  startled,  but  we  could  not  have 
told  why.  The  servant  opened  the  door,  and  a  moment 
later  a  man  dashed  into  the  library  so  breathless  from  hard 
running  that  he  could  scarcely  speak. 

Good  news,  judge,  grand  news !  "  he  said  when  he  re- 
covered breath.      We  have  won !  " 

The  man  was  the  prosecuting  attorney. 

"  Explain  yourself,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  judge,  mo- 
tioning him  to  a  chair.  "  What  remarkable  occurrence 
could  have  brought  you  hither  in  such  haste  and  at  this 
hour  of  the  morning?  " 

We  have  arrested  Gabriela  Zahara." 

"Arrested  her?"  exclaimed  the  judge  joyfully. 

"  Yes,  sir,  we  have  her.  One  of  our  detectives  has  been 
following  her  for  a  month.  He  has  caught  her,  and  she  is 
now  locked  up  in  a  cell  of  the  prison." 

"  Then  let  us  go  there  at  once !  "  exclaimed  the  judge. 

We  will  interrogate  her  to-night.  Do  me  the  favor  to 
notify  my  secretary.  Owing  to  the  gravity  of  the  case, 
you  yourself  must  be  present.  Also  notify  the  guard  who 
has  charge  of  the  head  of  Senor  Romeral.   It  has  been  my 

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Spanish  Mystery  Stories 

opinion  from  the  beginning  that  this  criminal  woman  would 
not  dare  deny  the  horrible  murder  when  she  was  confronted 
with  the  evidence  of  her  crime.  So  far  as  you  are  con- 
cerned/' said  the  judge,  turning  to  me,  I  will  appoint 
you  assistant  secretary,  so  that  you  can  be  present  without 
violating  the  law/' 

I  did  not  answer.  A  horrible  suspicion  had  been  grow- 
ing within  me,  a  suspicion  which,  like  some  infernal  ani- 
mal, was  tearing  at  my  heart  with  claws  of  steel.  Could 
Gabriela  and  Blanca  be  one  and  the  same?  I  turned  to  the 
assistant  district  attorney. 

"  By  the  way,''  I  asked,  where  was  Gabriela  when  she 
was  arrested  ?  " 

In  the  Hotel  of  the  Lion." 

My  suffering  was  frightful,  but  I  could  say  nothing,  do 
nothing  without  compromising  the  judge ;  besides,  I  w^as 
not  sure.  Even  if  I  were  positive  that  Gabriela  and  Blanca 
were  the  same  person,  what  could  my  unfortunate  friend 
do?  Feign  a  sudden  illness?  Flee  the  country?  My  only 
way  was  to  keep  silent  and  let  God  work  it  out  in  His 
own  way.  The  orders  of  the  judge  had  already  been  com- 
municated to  the  chief  of  police  and  the  warden  of  the 
prison.  Even  at  this  hour  the  news  had  spread  through- 
out the  city  and  idlers  were  gathering  to  see  the  rich  and 
beautiful  woman  who  would  ascend  the  scaffold.  I  still 
clung  to  the  slender  hope  that  Gabriela  and  Blanca  were 
not  the  same  person.  But  when  I  went  toward  the  prison 
I  staggered  like  a  drunken  man  and  was  compelled  to  lean 
upon  the  shoulder  of  one  of  the  officials,  who  asked  me 
anxiously  if  I  were  ill. 

VI 

We  arrived  at  the  prison  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
The  large  reception  room  was  brilliantly  lighted.  The 
guard,  holding  a  black  box  in  which  was  the  skull  of  Senor 
Romeral,  was  awaiting  us. 

The  judge  took  his  seat  at  the  head  of  the  long  table; 
the  prosecuting  attorney  sat  on  his  right,  and  the  chief  of 

276 


Pedro  de  Alargon 

police  stood  by  with  his  arms  folded.  I  and  the  secretary 
sat  on  the  left  of  the  judge.  A  number  of  police  officers 
and  detectives  were  standing  near  the  door. 

The  judge  touched  his  bell  and  said  to  the  warden: 
Bring  in  Dofia  Gabriela  Zahara! 

I  felt  as  if  I  were  dying,  and  instead  of  looking  at  the 
door,  I  looked  at  the  judge  to  see  if  I  could  read  in  his  face 
the  solution  of  this  frightful  problem. 

I  saw  him  turn  livid  and  clutch  his  throat  with  both 
hands,  as  if  to  stop  a  cry  of  agony,  and  then  he  turned  to 
me  with  a  look  of  infinite  supplication. 

''Keep  quiet!"  I  whispered,  putting  my  finger  on  my 
lips,  and  then  I  added :    I  knew  it." 

The  unfortunate  man  arose  from  his  chair. 

''Judge!  "  I  exclaimed,  and  in  that  one  word  I  conveyed 
to  him  the  full  sense  of  his  duty  and  of  the  dangers  which 
surrounded  him.  He  controlled  himself  and  resumed  his 
seat,  but  were  it  not  for  the  light  in  his  eyes,  he  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  dead  man.  Yes,  the  man  was  dead;  only 
the  judge  lived. 

When  I  had  convinced  myself  of  this,  I  turned  and 
looked  at  the  accused.  Good  God!  Gabriela  Zahara  was 
not  only  Blanca,  the  woman  my  friend  so  deeply  loved,  but 
she  was  also  the  woman  I  had  met  in  the  stagecoach  and  sub- 
sequently at  Granada,  the  beautiful  South  American,  Mer- 
cedes! 

All  these  fantastic  women  had  now  merged  into  one, 
the  real  one  who  stood  before  us,  accused  of  the  murder 
of  her  husband  and  who  had  been  condemned  to  die. 

There  w^as  still  a  chance  to  prove  herself  innocent.  Could 
she  do  it  ?  This  was  my  one  supreme  hope,  as  it  was  that 
of  my  poor  friend. 

Gabriela  (we  will  call  her  now  by  her  real  name)  v/as 
deathly  pale,  but  apparently  calm.  Was  she  trusting  to 
her  innocence  or  to  the  weakness  of  the  judge?  Our 
doubts  w^ere  soon  solved.  Up  to  that  moment  the  accused 
had  looked  at  no  one  but  the  judge.  I  did  not  know 
whether  she  desired  to  encourage  him  or  menace  him,  or 

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to  tell  him  that  his  Blanca  could  not  be  an  assassin.  But, 
noting  the  impassibility  of  the  magistrate  and  that  his  face 
was  as  expressionless  as  that  of  a  corpse,  she  turned  to  the 
others,  as  if  seeking  help  from  them.  Then  her  eyes  fell 
upon  me,  and  she  blushed  slightly. 

The  judge  now  seemed  to  awaken  from  his  stupor  and 
asked  in  a  harsh  voice: 
What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Gabriela  Zahara,  widow  of  Romeral,"  answered  the  ac- 
cused in  a  soft  voice. 

Zarco  trembled.  He  had  just  learned  that  his  Blanca 
had  never  existed;  she  told  him  so  herself — she  who  only 
three  hours  before  had  consented  to  become  his  wife! 

Fortunately,  no  one  was  looking  at  the  judge,  all  eyes 
being  fixed  upon  Gabriela,  whose  marvelous  beauty  and 
quiet  demeanor  carried  to  all  an  almost  irresistible  convic- 
tion of  her  innocence. 

The  judge  recovered  himself,  and  then,  like  a  man  who 
is  staking  more  than  life  upon  the  cast  of  a  die,  he  ordered 
the  guard  to  open  the  black  box. 

''Madame!''  said  the  judge  sternly,  his  eyes  seeming 
to  dart  flames,  approach  and  tell  me  whether  you  recog- 
nize this  head? 

At  a  signal  from  the  judge  the  guard  opened  the  black 
box  and  lifted  out  the  skull. 

A  cry  of  mortal  agony  rang  through  that  room;  one 
could  not  tell  whether  it  was  of  fear  or  of  madness.  The 
woman  shrank  "back,  her  eyes  dilating  with  terror,  and 
screamed:  "  Alfonzo,  Alfonzo!  " 

Then  she  seemed  to  fall  into  a  stupor.  All  turned  to  the 
judge,  murmuring:    She  is  guilty  beyond  a  doubt.'' 

"  Do  you  recognize  the  nail  which  deprived  your  hus- 
band of  life?  "  said  the  judge,  arising  from  his  chair,  look- 
ing like  a  corpse  rising  from  the  grave. 

Yes,  sir,"  answered  Gabriela  mechanically. 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  admit  that  you  assassinated  your 
husband?"  asked  the  judge,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with 
his  great  suffering. 

278 


Pedro  de  Alargon 

Sir/'  answered  the  accused,  I  do  not  care  to  live  any 
more,  but  before  I  die  I  would  like  to  make  a  statement/' 

The  judge  fell  back  in  his  chair  and  then  asked  me  by  a 
look:  ''What  is  she  going  to  say?" 

I,  myself,  was  almost  stupefied  by  fear. 

Gabriela  stood  before  them,  her  hands  clasped  and  a  far- 
away look  in  her  large,  dark  eyes. 

I  am  going  to  confess/'  she  said,  "  and  my  confession 
will  be  my  defense,  although  it  will  not  be  sufficient  to 
save  me  from  the  scaffold.  Listen  to  me,  all  of  you!  Why 
deny  that  which  is  self-evident?  I  was  alone  with  my  hus- 
band when  he  died.  The  servants  and  the  doctor  have  tes- 
tified to  this.  Hence,  only  I  could  have  killed  him.  Yes, 
I  committed  the  crime,  but  another  man  forced  me  to 
do  it." 

The  judge  trembled  when  he  heard  these  words,  but, 
dominating  his  emotion,  he  asked  courageously: 

''The  name  of  that  man,  madame?  Tell  us  at  once  the 
name  of  the  scoundrel!  " 

Gabriela  looked  at  the  judge  with  an  expression  of  in- 
finite love,  as  a  mother  would  look  at  the  child  she  wor- 
shiped, and  answered :  "  By  a  single  word  I  could  drag 
this  man  into  the  depths  with  me.  But  I  will  not.  No  one 
shall  ever  know  his  name,  for  he  has  loved  me  and  I  love 
him.  Yes,  I  love  him,  although  I  know  he  will  do  nothing 
to  save  me!  " 

The  judge  half  rose  from  his  chair  and  extended  his 
hands  beseechingly,  but  she  looked  at  him  as,  if  to  say: 
"  Be  careful !  You  will  betray  yourself,  and  it  will  do  no 
good." 

He  sank  back  into  his  chair,  and  Gabriela  continued  her 
story  in  a  quiet,  firm  voice: 

"  I  was  forced  to  marry  a  man  I  hated.  I  hated  him 
more  after  I  married  him  than  I  did  before.  I  lived  three 
years  in  martyrdom.  One  day  there  came  into  my  life 
a  man  whom  I  loved.  He  demanded  that  I  should  marry 
him,  he  asked  me  to  fly  with  him  to  a  heaven  of  happiness 
and  love.    He  was  a  man  of  exceptional  character,  high 

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Spanish  Mystery  Stories 

and  noble,  whose  only  fault  was  that  he  loved  me  too  much. 
Had  I  told  him :  '  I  have  deceived  you,  I  am  not  a  widow ; 
my  husband  is  living,'  he  would  have  left  me  at  once.  I 
invented  a  thousand  excuses,  but  he  always  answered:  ^  Be 
my  wife ! '  What  could  I  do  ?  I  was  bound  to  a  man  of 
the  vilest  character  and  habits,  whom  I  loathed.  Well,  I 
killed  this  man,  believing  that  I  was  committing  an  act 
of  justice,  and  God  punished  me,  for  my  lover  abandoned 
me.  And  now  I  am  very,  very  tired  of  life,  and  all  I  ask  of 
you  is  that  death  may  come  as  quickly  as  possible.'' 

Gabriela  stopped  speaking.  The  judge  had  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands,  as  if  he  were  thinking,  but  I  could  see 
he  was  shaking  like  an  epileptic. 

"  Your  honor,"  repeated  Gabriela,  "  grant  my  request 
that  I  may  die  soon." 

The  judge  made  a  sign  to  the  guards  to  remove  the 
prisoner. 

Before  she  followed  them,  she  gave  me  a  terrible  look 
in  which  there  was  more  of  pride  than  of  repentance. 

I  do  not  wish  to  enter  into  details  of  the  condition  of 
the  judge  during  the  following  day.  In  the  great  emo- 
tional struggle  which  took  place,  the  officer  of  the  law 
conquered  the  man,  and  he  confirmed  the  sentence  of 
death. 

On  the  following  day  the  papers  were  sent  to  the  Court 
of  Appeals,  and  then  Zarco  came  to  me  and  said:  ''Wait 
here  until  I  return.  Take  care  of  this  unfortunate  woman, 
but  do  not  visit  her,  for  your  presence  would  humiliate 
instead  of  consoling  her.  Do  not  ask  me  whither  I  am 
going,  and  do  not  think  that  I  am  going  to  commit  the  very 
foolish  act  of  taking  my  own  life.  Farewell,  and  forgive 
me  all  the  worry  I  have  caused  you." 

Twenty  days  later  the  Court  of  Appeals  confirmed  the 
sentence,  and  Gabriela  Zahara  was  placed  in  the  death  cell. 

The  morning  of  the  day  fixed  for  the  execution  came, 
and  still  the  judge  had  not  returned.  The  scaffold  had  been 

280 


Pedro  de  Alargon 

erected  in  the  center  of  the  square,  and  an  enormous  crowd 
had  gathered.  I  stood  by  the  door  of  the  prison,  for,  while 
I  had  obeyed  the  wish  of  my  friend  that  I  should  not  call 
on  Gabriela  in  her  prison,  I  believed  it  my  duty  to  repre- 
sent him  in  that  supreme  moment  and  accompany  the 
woman  he  had  loved  to  the  foot  of  the  scaffold. 

When  she  appeared,  surrounded  by  her  guards,  I  hardly 
recognized  her.  She  had  grown  very  thin  and  seemed 
hardly  to  have  the  strength  to  lift  to  her  lips  the  small 
crucifix  she  carried  in  her  hand. 

"I  am  here,  sefiora.  Can  I  be  of  service  to  you?''  I 
asked  her  as  she  passed  by  me. 

She  raised  her  deep,  sunken  eyes  to  mine,  and,  when  she 
recognized  me,  she  exclaimed: 

Oh,  thanks,  thanks !  This  is  a  great  consolation  for 
me,  in  my  last  hour  of  life.  Father,"  she  added,  turning 
to  the  priest  who  stood  beside  her,  may  I  speak  a  few 
words  to  this  generous  friend?" 

"  Yes,  my  daughter,''  answered  the  venerable  minister. 

Then  Gabriela  asked  me:    Where  is  he?  " 
He  is  absent  " 

"  May  God  bless  him  and  make  him  happy!  When  you 
see  him,  ask  him  to  forgive  me  even  as  I  believe  God  has 
already  forgiven  me.  Tell  him  I  love  him  yet,  although 
this  love  is  the  cause  of  my  death." 

We  had  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold  stairway,  where 
I  was  compelled  to  leave  her.  A  tear,  perhaps  the  last  one 
there  was  in  that  suffering  heart,  rolled  down  her  cheek. 
Once  more  she  said:  ''Tell  him  that  I  died  blessing  him." 

Suddenly  there  came  a  roar  like  that  of  thunder.  The 
mass  of  people  swayed,  shouted,  danced,  laughed  like 
maniacs,  and  above  all  this  tumult  one  word  rang  out 
clearly: 

"Pardoned!  Pardoned!" 

At  the  entrance  to  the  square  appeared  a  man  on  horse- 
back, galloping  madly  toward  the  scaffold.  In  his  hand 
he  waved  a  white  handkerchief,  and  his  voice  rang  high 
above  the  clamor  of  the  crowd:  "Pardoned!  Pardoned!" 

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Spanish  Mystery  Stories 

It  was  the  judge.  Reining  up  his  foaming  horse  at  the 
foot  of  the  scaffold,  he  extended  a  paper  to  the  chief  of 
police. 

Gabriela,  who  had  already  mounted  some  of  the  steps, 
turned  and  gave  the  judge  a  look  of  infinite  love  and  grati- 
tude. 

"  God  bless  you!  "  she  exclaimed,  and  then  fell  senseless. 

As  soon  as  the  signatures  and  seals  upon  the  document 
had  been  verified  by  the  authorities,  the  priest  and  the 
judge  rushed  to  the  accused  to  undo  the  cords  which  bound 
her  hands  and  arms  and  to  revive  her. 

All  their  efforts  were  useless,  however.  Gabriela  Za- 
hara  was  dead. 


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The  Deposition 

J  KNOW  nothing  at  all  about  it,  your  honor!  " 

"  Nothing  at  all?  How  can  that  be?  It  all  happened 
within  fifty  yards  of  your  shop." 

'  Nothing  at  all/  I  said,  ...  in  an  off-hand  way ;  but 
really,  next  to  nothing.  I  am  a  barber,  your  honor,  and 
Heaven  be  praised !  I  have  custom  enough  to  keep  me  busy 
from  morning  till  night.  There  are  three  of  us  in  the  shop, 
and  what  with  shaving  and  combing  and  hair-cutting,  not 
one  of  the  three  has  the  time  to  stop  and  scratch  his  head, 
and  I  least  of  all.  Many  of  my  customers  are  so  kind  as  to 
prefer  my  services  to  those  of  my  two  young  men ;  perhaps 
because  I  amuse  them  with  my  little  jokes.  And,  what  with 
lathering  and  shaving  this  face  and  that,  and  combing  the 
hair  on  so  many  heads — how  does  your  honor  expect  me 
to  pay  attention  to  other  people's  affairs?  And  the  morn- 
ing that  I  read  about  it  in  the  paper,  why,  I  stood  there 
with  my  mouth  wide  open,  and  I  said,  *  Well,  that  was  the 
way  it  was  bound  to  end! '  " 

Why  did  you  say,  '  That  was  the  way  it  was  bound 
to  end?" 

''Why — because  it  had  ended  that  way!  You  see — on 
the  instant,  I  called  to  mind  the  ugly  face  of  the  husband. 
Every  time  I  saw  him  pass  up  or  down  the  street — one 
of  those  impressions  that  no  one  can  account  for — I  used 
to  think,  *  That  fellow  has  the  face  of  a  convict ! '  But  of 
course  that  proves  nothing.  There  are  plenty  who  have 
the  bad  luck  to  be  uglier  than  mortal  sin,  but  very  worthy 
people  all  the  same.  But  in  this  case  I  didn't  think  that 
I  was  mistaken." 

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Italian  Mystery  Stories 

"  But  you  were  friends.  He  used  to  come  very  often  and 
sit  down  at  the  entrance  to  your  barber  shop." 

"  Very  often?  Only  once  in  a  while,  your  honor!  '  By 
your  leave,  neighbor,'  he  would  say.  He  always  called 
me  '  neighbor ' ;  that  was  his  name  for  everyone.  And  I 
would  say,  '  Why,  certainly.'  The  chair  stood  there,  empty. 
Your  honor  understands  that  I  could  hardly  be  so  uncivil 
as  to  say  to  him,  '  No,  you  can't  sit  down.'  A  barber  shop 
is  a  public  place,  like  a  cafe  or  a  beer  saloon.  At  all  events, 
one  may  sit  down  without  paying  for  it,  and  no  need  to 
have  a  shave  or  hair-cut,  either!  'By  your  leave,  neigh- 
bor,' and  there  he  would  sit,  in  silence,  smoking  and  scowl- 
ing, with  his  eyes  half  shut.  He  would  loaf  there  for  half 
an  hour,  an  hour,  sometimes  longer.  He  annoyed  me,  I 
don't  deny  it,  from  the  very  start.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  talk." 

"  What  sort  of  talk?" 
A  good  deal  of  talk.    Your  honor  knows,  better  than 
I,  how  evil-minded  people  are.    I  make  it  a  practice  not 
to  believe  a  syllable  of  what  I  am  told  about  anyone,  good 
or  evil;  that  is  the  way  to  keep  out  of  trouble." 

Come,  come,  what  sort  of  talk?  Keep  to  the  point." 
What  sort  of  talk?  Why,  one  day  they  would  say  this, 
and  the  next  day  they  would  say  that,  and  by  harping  on 
it  long  enough,  they  made  themselves  believe  that  the 
wife —  Well,  your  honor  knows  that  a  pretty  wife  is  a 
chastisement  of  God.  And  after  all,  there  are  some  things 
that  you  can't  help  seeing  unless  you  won't  see!  " 
Then  it  was  he,  the  husband  " 

''I  know  nothing  about  it,  your  honor,  nothing  at  all! 
But  it  is  quite  true  that  every  time  he  came  and  sat  down 
by  my  doorway  or  inside  the  shop,  I  used  to  say  to  myself, 
'If  that  man  can't  see,  he  certainly  must  be  blind!  and  if 
he  won't  see,  he  certainly  must  be —  Your  honor  knows 
what  I  mean.  There  was  certainly  no  getting  out  of  that 
— out  of  that —  Perhaps  your  honor  can  help  me  to  the 
right  w^ord?  " 

"  Dilemma?" 

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Luigi  Capuana 

"  Dilemma,  yes,  your  honor.  And  Biasi,  the  notary,  who 
comes  to  me  to  be  shaved,  uses  another  word  that  just 
fits  the  case,  begging  your  honor's  pardon." 

Then,  according  to  you,  this  Don  Nicasio  " 

Oh,  I  won't  put  my  finger  in  the  pie!  Let  him  answer 
for  himself.  Everyone  has  a  conscience  of  his  own;  and 
Jesus  Christ  has  said,  *  Judge  not,  lest  ye  be  judged.' 
Well,  one  morning — or  was  it  in  the  evening?  I  don't 
exactly  remember — yes,  now  it  comes  back  to  me  that 
it  was  in  the  morning — I  saw  him  pass  by,  scowling  and 
with  his  head  bent  down ;  I  was  in  my  doorway,  sharpening 
a  razor.  Out  of  curiosity  I  gave  him  a  passing  word  as 
well  as  a  nod,  adding  a  gesture  that  was  as  good  as  a 
question.  He  came  up  to  me,  looked  me  straight  in  the  face, 
and  answered:  'Haven't  I  told  you  that,  sooner  or  later, 
I  should  do  something  crazy?  And  I  shall,  neighbor,  yes, 
I  shall!  They  are  dragging  me  by  the  hair!'  *  Let  rne 
cut  it  ofY,  then! '  I  answered  jokingly,  to  make  him  forget 
himself." 

"  So,  he  had  told  you  before,  had  he  ?  How  did  he  hap- 
pen to  tell  you  before?" 

Oh,  your  honor  knows  how  words  slip  out  of  the  mouth 
at  certain  moments.    Who  pays  attention  to  them?  For 

my  part,  I  have  too  many  other  things  in  my  head  " 

Come,  come — what  had  he  been  talking  about,  when  he 
told  you  before?  " 

''Great  heavens,  give  me  time  to  think,  your  honor! 
What  had  he  been  talking  about?  Why,  about  his  wife, 
of  course.  Who  knows?  Some  one  must  have  put  a  flea 
in  his  ear.  It  needs  only  half  a  word  to  ruin  a  poor  devil's 
peace  of  mind.  And  that  is  how  a  man  lets  such  words 
slip  out  of  his  mouth  as  '  Sooner  or  later  I  shall  do  some- 
thing crazy ! '  That  is  all.  I  know  nothing  else  about  it, 
your  honor!  " 

"And  the  only  answer  you  made  him  was  a  joke?" 

"  I  could  not  say  to  him,  '  Go  ahead  and  do  it,'  could 
I  ?  As  it  was  he  went  ofT,  shaking  his  head.  And  what  idea 
he  kept  brooding  over,  after  that,  who  knows?    One  can't 

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Italian  Mystery  Stories 

see  inside  of  another  man's  brain.  But  sometimes,  when  I 
heard  him  freeing  his  mind  

''Then  he  used  to  free  his  mind  to  you?" 

"  Why,  yes,  to  me,  and  maybe  to  others  besides.  You 
see,  one  bears  things  and  bears  things  and  bears  things; 
and  at  last,  rather  than  burst  with  them,  one  frees  one's 
mind  to  the  first  man  who  comes  along.'' 

But  you  were  not  the  first  man  who  came  along.  You 
used  to  call  at  his  house  " 

''Only  as  a  barber,  your  honor!  Only  when  Don 
Nicasio  used  to  send  for  me.  And  very  often  I  would  get 
there  too  late,  though  I  tried  my  best." 

"  And  very  likely  you  sometimes  went  there  when  you 
knew  that  he  was  not  at  home?" 

"  On  purpose,  your  honor?   No,  never!  " 

"  And  when  you  found  his  wife  alone,  you  allowed  your- 
self " 

"  Calumnies,  your  honor!  Who  dares  say  such  a  thing? 
Does  she  say  so  ?  It  may  be  that  once  or  twice  a  few  words 
escaped  me  in  jest.  You  know  how  it  is — when  I  found 
myself  face  to  face  with  a  pretty  woman — you  know  how 
it  is — if  only  not  to  cut  a  foolish  figure !  " 

"  But  it  was  very  far  from  a  joke!  You  ended  by  threat- 
ening her!  " 

"What  calumnies!  Threaten  her?  What  for?  A 
woman  of  her  stamp  doesn't  need  to  be  threatened!  I 
would  never  have  stooped  so  low !   I  am  no  schoolboy !  " 

"  Passion  leads  men  into  all  sorts  of  folly." 

"  That  woman  is  capable  of  anything!  She  would  slan- 
der our  Lord  himself  to  His  face!  Passion?  I?  At  my 
age?  I  am  well  on  in  the  forties,  your  honor,  and  many 
a  gray  hair  besides.  Many  a  folly  I  committed  in  my 
youth,  like  everyone  else.  But  now —  Besides,  with  a 
woman  like  that!  I  was  no  blind  man,  even  if  Don  Nicasio 
was.  I  knew  that  that  young  fellow — poor  fool,  he  paid 
dearly  for  her — I  knew  that  he  had  turned  her  head.  That's 
the  way  with  some  women — they  go  their  own  gait,  they're 
off  with  one  and  on  with  another,  and  then  they  end  by 

286 


Luigi  Capuana 

becoming  the  slave  of  some  scalawag  who  robs  and  abuses 
them!  He  used  to  beat  her,  your  honor,  many  and  many 
a  time,  your  honor!  And  I,  for  the  sake  of  the  poor  hus- 
band, whom  I  pitied —  Yes,  that  is  why  she  says  that  I 
threatened  her.  She  says  so,  because  I  was  foolish  enough 
to  go  and  give  her  a  talking  to,  the  day  that  Don  Nicasio 
said  to  me,  *  I  shall  do  something  crazy! '  She  knew  what 
I  meant,  at  least  she  pretended  that  she  did/' 
No;  this  was  what  you  said  " 

"  Yes,  your  honor,  I  remember  now  exactly  what  I  said. 
'  ril  spoil  your  sport,'  I  told  her,  '  if  it  sends  me  to  the 
galleys ! '  but  I  was  speaking  in  the  name  of  the  husband. 

In  the  heat  of  the  moment  one  falls  into  a  part  '' 

The  husband  knew  nothing  of  all  this." 

"  Was  I  to  boast  to  him  of  what  I  had  done?  A  friend 
either  gives  his  services  or  else  he  doesn't.  That  is  how 
I  understand  it." 

Why  were  you  so  much  concerned  about  it?" 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  been,  your  honor.  I  have  too  soft 
a  heart." 

"  Your  threats  became  troublesome.  And  not  threats 
alone,  but  promise  after  promise!    And  gifts  besides,  a 

ring  and  a  pair  of  earrings  " 

That  is  true.  I  won't  deny  it.  I  found  them  in  my 
pocket,  quite  by  chance.  They  belonged  to  my  wife.  It 
was  an  extravagance,  but  I  did  it,  to  keep  poor  Don 
Nicasio  from  doing  something  crazy.  If  I  could  only  win 
my  point,  I  told  myself,  if  I  could  only  get  that  young 
fellow  out  of  the  way,  then  it  would  be  time  enough  to 
say  to  Don  Nicasio,  '  My  friend,  give  me  back  my  ring 
and  my  earrings ! '  He  would  not  have  needed  to  be  told 
twice.    He  is  an  honorable  man,  Don  Nicasio!" 

"  But  when  she  answered  you,  *  Keep  them  yourself,  I 
don't  want  them!'  you  began  to  beg  her,  almost  in 
tears  " 

"  Ah,  your  honor!  since  you  must  be  told — I  don't  know 
how  I  managed  to  control  myself — I  had  so  completely  put 
myself  in  the  place  of  the  husband!   I  could  have  strangled 

287 


Italian  Mystery  Stories 

her  with  my  own  hands !  I  could  have  done  that  very  same 
crazy  thing  that  Don  Nicasio  thought  of  doing!  " 

Yet  you  were  very  prudent,  that  is  evident.  You  said 
to  yourself:  '  If  not  for  me,  then  not  for  him!  '  The  lover, 
I  mean,  not  Don  Nicasio.  And  you  began  to  work  upon 
the  husband,  who,  up  to  that  time,  had  let  things  slide, 
either  because  he  did  not  believe,  or  else  because  he  pre- 
ferred to  bear  the  lesser  evil  

It  may  be  that  some  chance  word  escaped  me.  There 
are.  times  when  a  man  of  honor  loses  his  head — but  be- 
yond that,  nothing,  your  honor.  Don  Nicasio  himself  will 
bear  me  witness." 

But  Don  Nicasio  says  " 

''He,  too?  Has  he  failed  me?  Has  he  turned  against 
me?   A  fine  way  to  show  his  gratitude!  " 

"  He  has  nothing  to  be  grateful  for.  Don't  excite  your- 
self! Sit  down  again.  You  began  by  protesting  that  you 
knew  nothing  at  all  about  it.  And  yet  you  knew  so  many 
things.  You  must  know  quite  a  number  more.  Don't  ex- 
cite yourself.'' 

''You  want  to  drag  me  over  a  precipice,  your  honor! 
I  begin  to  understand!  " 

"  Men  who  are  blinded  by  passion  walk  over  precipices 
on  their  own  feet." 

"  But — then  your  honor  imagines  that  I,  myself  " 

"  I  imagine  nothing.  It  is  evident  that  you  were  the 
instigator,  and  something  more  than  the  instigator,  too." 

"Calumny,  calumny,  your  honor!" 

"  That  same  evening  you  were  seen  talking  with  the 
husband  until  quite  late." 

"  I  was  trying  to  persuade  him  not  to.  I  said  to  him, 
*  Let  things  alone !  Since  it  is  your  misfortune  to  have  it 
so,  what  difference  does  it  make  whether  he  is  the  one,  or 
somebody  else?  '  And  he  kept  repeating,  '  Somebody  else, 
yes,  but  not  that  rotten  beast!'  His  very  words,  your 
honor." 

"  You  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  adjoining  street,  lying 
in  wait." 

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Luigi  Capuana 

Who  saw  me  there?   Who  saw  us,  your  honor?  " 

"  You  were  seen.  Come,  make  up  your  mind  to  tell  all 
you  know.  It  will  be  better  for  you.  The  woman  testi- 
fies, '  There  were  two  of  them,'  but  in  the  dark  she  could 
not  recognize  the  other  one." 

''Just  because  I  wanted  to  do  a  kind  act!  This  is  what 
I  have  brought  on  myself  by  trying  to  do  a  kind  act!  " 

"  You  stood  at  the  street  corner  '' 

"  It  was  like  this,  your  honor.  I  had  gone  with  him  as 
far  as  that.  But  when  I  saw  that  it  was  no  use  to  try 
to  stop  him — it  was  striking  eleven — the  streets  were  de- 
serted— I  started  to  leave  him  indignantly,  without  a  part- 
ing word  '' 

*'  Well,  what  next?  Do  I  need  tongs  to  drag  the  words 
out  of  your  mouth?" 

''What  next?  Why,  your  honor  knows  how  it  is  at 
night,  under  the  lamplight.  You  see  and  then  you  don't 
see — that's  the  way  it  is.  I  turned  around — Don  Nicasio 
had  plunged  through  the  doorway  of  his  home — just  by  the 
entrance  to  the  little  lane.    A  cry ! — then  nothing  more ! '' 

"  You  ran  forward?   That  was  quite  natural." 

"  I  hesitated  on  the  threshold — the  hallway  was  so  dark.'^ 

"  You  couldn't  have  done  that.  The  woman  would  have 
recognized  you  by  the  light  of  the  street  lamp." 

"  The  lamp  is  some  distance  ofif." 

"  You  went  in  one  after  the  other.  Which  of  you  shut 
the  door?    Because  the  door  was  shut  immediately." 

"  In  the  confusion  of  the  moment — two  men  struggling 
together — I  could  hear  them  gasping — I  wanted  to  call  for 
help — then  a  fall!  And  then  I  felt  myself  seized  by  the 
arm  :  '  Run,  neighbor,  run !  This  is  no  business  of  yours  1  ^ 
It  didn't  sound  like  the  voice  of  a  human  being.  And  that 
was  how — that  was  how  I  happened  to  be  there,  a  helpless 
witness.  I  think  that  Don  Nicasio  meant  to  kill  his  wife, 
too;  but  the  wretched  woman  escaped.  She  ran  and  shut 
herself  up  in  her  room.  That  is — I  read  so  afterwards,  in 
the  papers.  The  husband  would  have  been  wiser  to  have 
killed  her  first.    Evil  weeds  had  better  be  torn  up  by  the 

289 


Italian  Mystery  Stories 

roots.  What  are  you  having  that  man  write,  your 
honor?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,  as  you  call  it.  Just  your  deposition. 
The  clerk  will  read  it  to  you  now,  and  you  will  sign  it.'' 

''Can  any  harm  come  to  me  from  it?  I  am  innocent! 
I  have  only  said  what  you  wanted  to  make  me  say.  You 
have  tangled  me  up  in  a  fine  net,  like  a  little  fresh-water 
fish!" 

''  Wait  a  moment.  And  this  is  the  most  important  thing 
of  all.  How  did  it  happen  that  the  mortal  wounds  on  the 
dead  man's  body  were  made  with  a  razor?  " 

*'  Oh,  the  treachery  of  Don  Nicasio!  My  God!  My  God! 
Yes,  your  honor.  Two  days  before — no  one  can  think  of 
everything,  no  one  can  foresee  everything — he  came  to 
the  shop  and  said  to  me,  'Neighbor,  lend  me  a  razor;  I 
have  a  corn  that  is  troubling  me.'  He  was  so  matter-of- 
fact  about  it  that  I  did  not  hesitate  for  an  instant.  I  even 
warned  him,  'Be  careful!  you  can't  joke  with  corns!  A 
little  blood,  and  you  may  start  a  cancer ! '  '  Don't  borrow 
trouble,  neighbor,'  he  answered." 

"  But  the  razor  could  not  be  found.  You  must  have 
brought  it  away." 

"I?  Who  would  remember  a  little  thing  like  that?  I 
was  more  dead  than  alive,  your  honor.  Where  are  you 
trying  to  lead  me,  with  your  questions?  I  tell  you,  I  am 
innocent !  " 

"  Do  not  deny  so  obstinately.  A  frank  confession  will 
help  you  far  more  than  tp  protest  your  innocence.  The 
facts  speak  clearly  enough.  It  is  well  known  how  passion 
maddens  the  heart  and  the  brain.  A  man  in  that  state  is 
no  longer  himself." 

"That  is  the  truth,  your  honor!  That  wretched  woman 
bewitched  me!  She  is  sending  me  to  the  galleys!  The 
more  she  said  '  No,  no,  no! '  the  more  I  felt  myself  going 
mad,  from  head  to  foot,  as  if  she  were  pouring  fire  over 
me,  with  her  '  No,  no,  no ! '  But  now — I  do  not  want  an- 
other man  to  suffer  in  my  place.  Yes,  I  was  the  one,  I  was 
the  one  who  killed  him!   I  was  bewitched,  your  honor!  I 

290 


Luigi  Capuana 

am  willing  to  go  to  the  galleys.  But  I  am  coming  back 
here,  if  I  have  the  good  luck  to  live  through  my  term. 
Oh,  the  justice  of  this  world!  To  think  that  she  goes  scot 
free,  the  real  and  only  cause  of  all  the  harm!  But  I  will 
see  that  she  gets  justice,  that  I  solemnly  swear — with  these 
two  hands  of  mine,  your  honor!  In  prison  I  shall  think 
of  nothing  else.  And  if  I  come  back  and  find  her  alive — 
grown  old  and  ugly,  it  makes  no  difference — she  will  have 
to  pay  for  it,  she  will  have  to  make  good!  Ah,  'no,  no, 
no ! '  But  I  will  say,  *  Yes,  yes,  yes ! '  And  I  will  drain 
her  last  drop  of  blood,  if  I  have  to  end  my  days  in  the 
galleys.   And  the  sooner,  the  better!  " 


291 


Lucius  Apuleius 


The  Adventure  of  the  Three  Robbers 

The  great  satire  of  Lucius  Apuleius,  the  work  through  which  his 
name  Hves  after  the  lapse  of  nearly  eighteen  centuries,  is  "The 
Golden  Ass,"  a  romance  from  which  the  following  passage  has  been 
selected  and  translated  for  these  Mystery  Stories.  Lucius,  the  per- 
sonage who  tells  the  story,  is  regarded  in  some  quarters  as  a  por- 
trayal of  the  author  himself.  The  purpose  of  *  *  The  Golden  Ass '  *  was 
to  satirize  false  priests  and  other  contemporary  frauds.  But  inter- 
spersed are  many  episodes  of  adventure  and  strange  situations,  one 
of  which  is  here  given. 

Telephron  reached  the  point  of  his  story,  his  fellow 
revelers,  befuddled  with  their  wine,  renewed  the  bois- 
terous uproar.  And  while  the  old  topers  were  clamoring 
for  the  customary  libation  to  laughter,  Byrrhsena  explained 
to  me  that  the  morrow  was  a  day  religiously  observed  by 
her  city  from  its  cradle  up ;  a  day  on  which  they  alone 
among  mortals  propitiated  that  most  sacred  god.  Laughter, 
with  hilarious  and  joyful  rites.  "  The  fact  that  you  are 
here,"  she  added,  will  make  it  all  the  merrier.  And  I 
do  wish  that  you  would  contribute  something  amusing  out 
of  your  own  cleverness,  in  honor  of  the  god,  to  help  us 
duly  worship  such  an  important  divinity." 

'^'Surely,"  said  I,  "  what  you  ask  shall  be  done.  And, 
by  Jove !  I  hope  I  shall  hit  upon  something  good  enough  to 
make  this  mighty  god  of  yours  reveal  his  presence." 

Hereupon,  my  slave  reminding  me  what  hour  of  night  it 
was,  I  speedily  got  upon  my  feet,  although  none  too  stead- 
ily after  my  potations,  and,  having  duly  taken  leave  of 
Byrrhsena,  guided  my  zigzag  steps  upon  the  homeward 
way.  But  at  the  very  first  corner  we  turned,  a  sudden  gust 
of  wind  blew  out  the  solitary  torch  on  which  we  depended, 

292 


Lucius  Apuleiiis 

and  left  us,  plunged  in  the  unforeseen  blackness  of  night, 
to  stumble  wearily  and  painfully  to  our  abode,  bruising  our 
feet  on  every  stone  in  the  road. 

But  when  at  last,  holding  each  other  up,  we  drew  near 
our  goal,  there  ahead  of  us  were  three  others,  of  big  and 
brawny  build,  expending  the  full  energy  of  their  strength 
upon  our  doorposts.  And  far  from  being  in  the  least  dis- 
mayed by  our  arrival,  they  seemed  only  fired  to  a  greater 
zeal  and  made  assault  more  fiercely.  Quite  naturally,  it 
seemed  clear  to  us  both,  and  especially  to  me,  that  they 
were  robbers,  and  of  the  most  dangerous  sort.  So  I  forth- 
with drew  the  blade  which  I  carry  hidden  under  my  cloak 
for  such  emergencies,  and  threw  myself,  undismayed,  into 
the  midst  of  these  highwaymen.  One  after  another,  as 
they  successively  tried  to  withstand  me,  I  ran  them 
through,  until  finally  all  three  lay  stretched  at  my  feet,  rid- 
dled wath  many  a  gaping  wound,  through  which  they 
yielded  up  their  breath.  By  this  time  Fotis,  the  maid,  had 
been  aroused  by  the  din  of  battle,  and  still  panting  and 
perspiring  freely  I  slipped  in  through  the  opening  door, 
and,  as  weary  as  though  I  had  fought  with  the  three- 
formed  Geryon  instead  of  those  pugnacious  thieves,  I 
yielded  myself  at  one  and  the  same  moment  to  bed  and 
to  slumber. 

Soon  rosy-fingered  Dawn,  shaking  the  purple  reins,  was 
guiding  her  steeds  across  the  path  of  heaven ;  and,  snatched 
from  my  untroubled  rest,  night  gave  me  back  to  day. 
Dismay  seized  my  soul  at  the  recollection  of  my  deeds 
of  the  past  evening.  I  sat  there,  crouching  on  my  bed, 
with  my  interlaced  fingers  hugging  my  knees,  and  freely 
gave  way  to  my  distress ;  I  already  saw  in  fancy  the  court, 
the  jury,  the  verdict,  the  executioner.  How  could  I  hope 
to  find  any  judge  so  mild,  so  benevolent  as  to  pronounce 
me  innocent,  soiled  as  I  was  with  a  triple  murder,  stained 
with  the  blood  of  so  many  citizens?  Was  this  the  glorious 
climax  of  my  travels  that  the  Chaldean,  Diophanes,  had 
so  confidently  predicted  for  me?  Again  and  again  I  went 
over  the  whole  matter  bewailing  my  hard  lot. 

293 


Latin  Mystery  Stories 

Hereupon  there  came  a  pounding  at  our  doors  and  a 
steadily  growing  clamor  on  the  threshold.  No  sooner  was 
admission  given  than,  with  an  impetuous  rush,  the  whole 
house  was  filled  with  magistrates,  police,  and  the  motley 
crowd  that  followed.  Two  officers,  by  order  of  the  mag- 
istrates, promptly  laid  hands  upon  me,  and  started  to  drag 
me  off,  though  resistance  was  the  last  thing  I  should  have 
thought  of.  By  the  time  we  had  reached  the  first  cross 
street  the  entire  city  was  already  trailing  at  our  heels  in 
an  astonishingly  dense  mass.  And  I  marched  gloomily 
along  with  my  head  hanging  down  to  the  very  earth — I 
might  even  say  to  the  lower  regions  below  the  earth. 

At  length  after  having  made  the  circuit  of  every  city 
square,  in  exactly  the  way  that  the  victims  are  led  around 
before  a  sacrifice  meant  to  ward  off  evil  omens,  I  was 
brought  into  the  forum  and  made  to  confront  the  tribunal 
of  justice.  The  magistrates  had  taken  their  seats  upon  the 
raised  platform,  the  court  crier  had  commanded  silence, 
when  suddenly  everyone  present,  as  if  with  one  voice,  pro- 
tested that  in  so  vast  a  gathering  there  was  danger  from 
the  dense  crowding,  and  demanded  that  a  case  of  such 
importance  should  be  tried  instead  in  the  public  theater. 
No  sooner  said  than  the  entire  populace  streamed  onward, 
helter-skelter,  and  in  a  marvelously  short  time  had  packed 
the  whole  auditorium  till  every  aisle  and  gallery  was  one 
solid  mass.  Many  swarmed  up  the  columns,  others 
dangled  from  the  statues,  while  a  few  there  were  that 
perched,  half  out  of  sight,  on  window  ledges  and  cornices ; 
but  all  in  their  amazing  eagerness  seemed  quite  careless 
how  far  they  risked  their  lives.  After  the  manner  of  a 
sacrifice  I  was  led  by  the  public  officials  down  the  middle 
of  the  stage,  and  was  left  standing  in  the  midst  of  the 
orchestra.  Once  more  the  voice  of  the  court  crier  boomed 
forth,  calling  for  the  prosecutor,  whereupon  a  certain  old 
man  arose,  and  having  first  taken  a  small  vase,  the  bottom 
of  which  ended  in  a  narrow  funnel,  and  having  filled  it  with 
water,  which  escaping  drop  by  drop  should  mark  the  length 
of  his  speech,  addressed  the  populace  as  follows: 

294 


Lucius  Apuleius 

This  is  no  trivial  case,  most  honored  citizens,  but  one 
which  directly  concerns  the  peace  of  our  entire  city,  and 
one  which  will  be  handed  down  as  a  weighty  precedent. 
Wherefore,  your  individual  and  common  interests  equally 
demand  that  you  should  sustain  the  dignity  of  the  State, 
and  not  permit  this  brutal  murderer  to  escape  the  penalty 
of  the  wholesale  butchery  that  resulted  from  his  bloody 
deeds.  And  do  not  think  that  I  am  influenced  by  any 
private  motives,  or  giving  vent  to  personal  animosity.  For 
I  am  in  command  of  the  night  watch,  and  up  to  this  time  I 
think  there  is  no  one  who  will  question  my  watchful  dili- 
gence. Accordingly  I  will  state  the  case  and  faithfully  set 
forth  the  events  of  last  night. 

It  was  about  the  hour  of  the  third  watch,  and  I  was 
making  my  round  of  the  entire  city,  going  from  door  to 
door  with  scrupulous  vigilance,  when  suddenly  I  beheld 
this  bloodthirsty  young  man,  sword  in  hand,  spreading  car- 
nage around  him;  already,  no  less  than  three  victims  of 
his  savagery  lay  writhing  at  his  feet,  gasping  forth  their 
breath  in  a  pool  of  blood.  Stricken,  as  well  he  might  be, 
with  the  guilt  of  so  great  a  crime,  the  fellow  fled,  and, 
slipping  into  one  of  the  houses  under  cover  of  the  dark- 
ness, lay  hidden  the  rest  of  the  night.  But,  thanks  to  the 
gods  who  permit  no  sinner  to  go  unpunished,  I  forestalled 
him  at  daybreak,  before  he  could  make  his  escape  by  secret 
ways,  and  have  brought  him  here  for  trial  before  your 
sacred  tribunal  of  justice.  The  prisoner  at  the  bar  is  a 
threefold  murderer;  he  was  taken  in  the  very  act;  and, 
furthermore,  he  is  a  foreigner.  Accordingly,  it  is  your 
plain  duty  to  return  a  verdict  of  guilty  against  this  man 
from  a  strange  land  for  a  crime  which  you  would  severely 
punish  even  in  the  case  of  one  of  your  own  citizens." 

Having  thus  spoken,  the  remorseless  prosecutor  sus- 
pended his  vindictive  utterance,  and  the  court  crier  straight- 
way ordered  m.e  to  begin  my  defense,  if  I  had  any  to  make. 
At  first  I  could  not  sufficiently  control  my  voice  to  speak, 
although  less  overcome,  alas,  by  the  harshness  of  the  accu- 
sation than  by  my  own  guilty  conscience.    But  at  last, 

295 


Latin  Mystery  Stories 

miraculously  inspired  with  courage,  I  made  answer  as  fol- 
lows : 

I  realize  how  hard  it  is  for  a  man  accused  of  murder, 
and  confronted  with  the  bodies  of  three  of  your  citizens, 
to  persuade  so  large  a  multitude  of  his  innocence,  even 
though  he  tells  the  exact  truth  and  voluntarily  admits  the 
facts.  But  if  in  mercy  you  will  give  me  an  attentive  hear- 
ing, I  shall  easily  make  clear  to  you  that  far  from  deserv- 
ing to  be  put  on  trial  for  my  life,  I  have  wrongfully  in- 
curred the  heavy  stigma  of  such  a  crime  as  the  chance 
result  of  justifiable  indignation. 

I  was  making  my  way  home  from  a  dinner  party  at 
a  rather  late  hour,  after  drinking  pretty  freely,  I  won't 
attempt  to  deny — for  that  was  the  head  and  front  of  my 
offense — when,  lo  and  behold !  before  the  very  doors  of  my 
abode,  before  the  home  of  the  good  Milo,  your  fellow- 
citizen,  I  beheld  a  number  of  villainous  thieves  trying  to 
effect  an  entrance  and  already  prying  the  doors  off  from 
the  twisted  hinges.  All  the  locks  and  bolts,  so  carefully 
closed  for  the  night,  had  been  wrenched  away,  and  the 
thieves  were  planning  the  slaughter  of  the  inmates.  Fi- 
nally, one  of  them,  bigger  and  more  active  than  the  rest, 
urged  them  to  action  with  these  words : 

'  Come  on,  boys !  Show  the  stuff  you  are  made  of,  and 
strike  for  all  you  are  worth  while  they  are  asleep !  No 
quarter  now,  no  faint-hearted  weakening!  Let  death  go 
through  the  house  with  drawn  sword !  If  you  find  any  in 
bed,  slit  their  throats  before  they  wake;  if  any  try  to  re- 
sist, cut  them  down.  Our  only  chance  of  getting  away  safe 
and  sound  is  to  leave  no  one  else  safe  and  sound  in  the 
whole  house.' 

"  I  confess,  citizens,  that  I  was  badly  frightened,  both 
on  account  of  my  hosts  and  myself;  and  believing  that  I 
was  doing  the  duty  of  a  good  citizen,  I  drew  the  sword 
which  always  accompanies  me  in  readiness  for  such  dan- 
gers, and  started  in  to  drive  away  or  lay  low  those  des- 
perate robbers.  But  the  barbarous  and  inhuman  villains, 
far  from  being  frightened  away,  had  the  audacity  to  stand 

296 


Lucius  Apuleius 

against  me,  although  they  saw  that  I  was  armed.  Their 
serried  ranks  opposed  me.  Next,  the  leader  and  standard- 
bearer  of  the  band,  assailing  me  with  brawny  strength, 
seized  me  with  both  hands  by  the  hair,  and  bending  me 
backward,  prepared  to  beat  out  my  brains  with  a  paving 
stone;  but  while  he  was  still  shouting  for  one,  with  an 
unerring  stroke  I  luckily  ran  him  through  and  stretched 
him  at  my  feet.  Before  long  a  second  stroke,  aimed  be- 
tween the  shoulders,  finished  off  another  of  them,  as  he 
clung  tooth  and  nail  to  my  legs;  while  the  third  one,  as 
he  rashly  advanced,  I  stabbed  full  in  the  chest. 

Since  I  had  fought  on  the  side  of  law  and  order,  in 
defense  of  pubHc  safety  and  my  host's  home,  I  felt  my- 
self not  only  without  blame  but  deserving  of  public  praise. 
I  have  never  before  been  charged  with  even  the  slightest 
infringement  of  the  law;  I  enjoy  a  high  reputation  among 
my  own  people,  and  all  my  life  have  valued  a  clear  con- 
science above  all  material  possessions.  Nor  can  I  under- 
stand why  I  should  suffer  this  prosecution  for  having 
taken  a  just  vengeance  upon  those  worthless  thieves,  since 
no  one  can  show  that  there  had  ever  before  been  any 
enmity  between  us,  or  for  that  matter  that  I  had  ever 
had  any  previous  acquaintance  with  the  thieves.  You  have 
not  even  established  any  motive  for  which  I  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have  committed  so  great  a  crime." 

At  this  point  my  emotion  again  ovek:ame  me,  and  with 
my  hands  extended  in  entreaty,  I  turned  from  one  to 
another,  beseeching  them  to  spare  me  in  the  name  of 
common  humanity,  for  the  sake  of  all  that  they  held  dear. 
I  thought  by  this  time  they  must  be  moved  to  pity, 
thrilled  with  sympathy  for  my  wretchedness;  accordingly 
I  called  to  witness  the  Eye  of  Justice  and  the  Light  of 
Day,  and  intrusted  my  case  to  the  providence  of  God,  when 
lifting  up  my  eyes  I  discovered  that  the  whole  assembly 
was  convulsed  with  laughter,  not  excepting  my  own  kind 
host  and  relative,  Milo,  who  was  shaking  with  merriment. 

So  much  for  friendship!  "  I  thought  to  myself,  so  much 
for  gratitude!    In  protecting  my  host,  I  have  become  a 

297 


Latin  Mystery  Stories 

murderer,  on  trial  for  my  life;  while  he,  far  from  raising 
a  finger  to  help  me,  makes  a  mock  of  my  misery." 

At  this  moment  a  woman  clad  in  black  rushed  down 
the  center  of  the  stage,  weeping  and  wailing  and  clasping 
a  small  child  to  her  breast.  An  older  woman,  covered 
with  rags  and  similarly  shaken  with  sobs,  followed  her, 
both  of  them  waving  olive  branches  as  they  passed  around 
the  bier  on  which  lay  the  covered  bodies  of  the  slain,  and 
lifted  up  their  voices  in  mournful  outcry:  For  the  sake 
of  common  humanity,"  they  wailed,  by  all  the  universal 
laws  of  justice,  be  moved  to  pity  by  the  undeserved  death 
of  these  young  men!  Give  to  a  lonely  wife  and  mother 
the  comfort  of  vengeance!  Come  to  the  aid  of  this  un- 
happy child  left  fatherless  in  his  tender  years,  and  of¥er  up 
the  blood  of  the  assassin  at  the  shrine  of  law  and  order." 

Hereupon  the  presiding  magistrate  arose  and  addressed 
the  people: 

"  The  crime  for  which  the  prisoner  will  later  pay  the 
full  penalty,  not  even  he  attempts  to  deny.  But  still  an- 
other duty  remains  to  be  performed,  and  that  is  to  find 
out  who  were  his  accomplices  in  this  wicked  deed;  since 
it  does  not  seem  likely  that  one  man  alone  could  have 
overcome  three  others  so  young  and  strong  as  these.  We 
must  apply  torture  to  extract  the  truth;  and  since  the  slave 
who  accompanied  him  has  made  his  escape,  there  is  no 
other  alternative  left  us  than  to  wring  the  names  of  his 
companions  from  the  prisoner  himself,  in  order  that  we 
may  effectually  relieve  the  public  of  all  apprehension  of 
danger  from  this  desperate  gang." 

Immediately,  in  accordance  with  the  Greek  usage,  fire 
and  the  wheel  were  brought  forth,  together  with  all  the 
other  instruments  of  torture.  Now  indeed  my  distress 
was  not  only  increased  but  multiplied  when  I  saw  that  I 
was  fated  to  perish  piecemeal.  But  at  this  point  the  old 
woman,  whose  noisy  lamentations  had  become  a  nuisance, 
broke  out  with  this  demand: 

"  Honored  citizens,  before  you  proceed  to  torture  the 
prisoner,  on  account  of  the  dear  ones  whom  he  has  taken 

298 


Lucius  Apuleius 

from  me,  will  you  not  permit  the  bodies  of  the  deceased 
to  be  uncovered  in  order  that  the  sight  of  their  youth  and 
beauty  may  fire  you  with  a  righteous  anger  and  a  severity 
proportioned  to  the  crime?'' 

These  words  were  received  with  applause,  and  straight- 
way the  magistrate  commanded  that  I  myself  should  with 
my  own  hand  draw  off  the  covering  from  the  bodies  lying 
on  the  bier.  In  spite  of  my  struggles  and  desperate  de- 
termination not  to  look  again  upon  the  consequences  of 
my  last  night's  deed,  the  court  attendants  promptly 
dragged  me  forward,  in  obedience  to  the  judge's  order, 
and  bending  my  arm  by  main  force  from  its  place  at  my 
side  stretched  it  out  above  the  three  corpses.  Conquered 
in  the  struggle,  I  yielded  to  necessity,  and  much  against 
my  will  drew  down  the  covering  and  exposed  the  bodies. 

Great  heavens,  what  a  sight!  What  a  miracle!  What 
a  transformation  in  my  whole  destiny!  I  had  already  be- 
gun to  look  upon  myself  as  a  vassal  of  Proserpine,  a 
bondsman  of  Hades,  and  now  I  could  only  gasp  in  im- 
potent amazement  at  the  suddenness  of  the  change;  words 
fail  me  to  express  fittingly  the  astounding  metamorphosis. 
For  the  bodies  of  my  butchered  victims  were  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  three  inflated  bladders,  whose  sides  still  bore 
the  scars  of  numerous  punctures,  which,  as  I  recalled  my 
battle  of  the  previous  night,  were  situated  at  the  very 
points  where  I  had  inflicted  gaping  wounds  upon  my  ad- 
versaries. Hereupon  the  hilarity,  which  up  to  this  point 
had  been  fairly  held  in  check,  swept  through  the  crowd 
like  a  conflagration.  Some  gave  themselves  up  helplessly 
to  an  unrestrained  extravagance  of  merriment;  others  did 
their  best  to  control  themselves,  holding  their  aching  sides 
with  both  hands.  And  having  all  laughed  until  they  could 
laugh  no  more,  they  passed  out  of  the  theater,  their  back- 
ward glances  still  centered  upon  me. 

From  the  moment  that  I  had  drawn  down  that  funeral 
pall  I  stood  fixed  as  if  frozen  into  stone,  as  powerless  to 
move  as  anyone  of  the  theater's  statues  or  columns.  Nor 
did  I  come  out  of  my  stupor  until  Milo,  my  host,  himself 

299 


Latin  Mystery  Stories 

approached  and  clapping  me  on  the  shoulder,  drew  me 
away  with  gentle  violence,  my  tears  now  flowing  freely  and 
sobs  choking  my  voice.  He  led  me  back  to  the  house 
by  a  roundabout  way  through  the  least  frequented  streets, 
doing  his  best  meanwhile  to  soothe  my  nerves  and  heal 
my  wounded  feelings.  But  nothing  he  could  say  availed 
to  lessen  my  bitter  indignation  at  having  been  made  so 
undeservedly  ridiculous.  But  all  at  once  the  magistrates 
themselves,  still  wearing  their  insignia  of  office,  arrived  at 
the  house  and  made  personal  amends  in  the  following 
words : 

We  are  well  aware.  Master  Lucius,  both  of  your  own 
high  merit  and  that  of  your  family,  for  the  renown  of  your 
name  extends  throughout  the  land.  Accordingly,  you 
must  understand  that  the  treatment  which  you  so  keenly 
resent  was  in  no  sense  intended  as  an  insult.  Therefore, 
banish  your  present  gloomy  mood  and  dismiss  all  anger 
from  your  mind.  For  the  festival,  which  we  solemnly 
celebrate  with  each  returning  year  in  honor  of  the  God 
of  Laughter,  must  always  depend  upon  novelty  for  its 
success.  And  so  our  god,  who  owes  you  so  great  a  debt 
to-day,  decrees  that  his  favoring  presence  shall  follow  you 
wherever  you  go,  and  that  your  cheerful  countenance  shall 
everywhere  be  a  signal  for  hilarity.  The  whole  city,  out 
of  gratitude,  bestows  upon  you  exceptional  honors,  en- 
rolling your  name  as  one  of  its  patrons,  and  decreeing  that 
your  Hkeness  in  bronze  shall  be  erected  as  a  perpetual 
memorial  of  to-day." 


300 


Pliny,  the  Younger 


Letter  to  Sura 

QUR  leisure  furnishes  me  with  the  opportunity  of  learn- 
ing from  you,  and  you  with  that  of  instructing  me. 
Accordingly,  I  particularly  wish  to  know  whether  you  think 
there  exist  such  things  as  phantoms,  possessing  an  ap- 
pearance peculiar  to  themselves,  and  a  certain  supernatural 
power,  or  that  m.ere  empty  delusions  receive  a  shape  from 
our  fears.  For  my  part,  I  am  led  to  believe  in  their  exist- 
ence, especially  by  v/hat  I  hear  happened  to  Curtius  Rufus. 
While  still  in  humble  circumstances  and  obscure,  he  was 
a  hanger-on  in  the  suite  of  the  Governor  of  Africa.  While 
pacing  the  colonnade  one  afternoon,  there  appeared  to  him 
a  female  form  of  superhuman  size  and  beauty.  She  in- 
formed the  terrified  man  that  she  was  "  Africa,''  and  had 
come  to  foretell  future  events;  for  that  he  would  go 
to  Rome,  would  fill  offices  of  state  there,  and  would 
even  return  to  that  same  province  with  the  highest  pow- 
ers, and  die  in  it.  All  which  things  were  fulfilled.  More- 
over, as  he  touched  at  Carthage,  and  was  disembark- 
ing from  his  ship,  the  same  form  is  said  to  have  presented 
itself  to  him  on  the  shore.  It  is  certain  that,  being  seized 
with  illness,  and  auguring  the  future  from  the  past  and 
misfortune  from  his  previous  prosperity,  he  himself  aban- 
doned all  hope  of  life,  though  none  of  those  about  him 
despaired. 

Is  not  the  following  story  again  still  more  appalling  and 
not  less  marvelous?  I  will  relate  it  as  it  was  received 
by  me: 

There  was  at  Athens  a  mansion,  spacious  and  commo- 
dious, but  of  evil  repute  and  dangerous  to  health.  In  the 
dead  of  night  there  was  a  noise  as  of  iron,  and,  if  you 

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listened  more  closely,  a  clanking  of  chains  was  heard,  first 
of  all  from  a  distance,  and  afterwards  hard  by.  Presently 
a  specter  used  to  appear,  an  ancient  man  sinking  with 
emaciation  and  squalor,  with  a  long  beard  and  bristly  hair, 
wearing  shackles  on  his  legs  and  fetters  on  his  hands,  and 
shaking  them.  Hence  the  inmates,  by  reason  of  their  fears, 
passed  miserable  and  horrible  nights  in  sleeplessness.  This 
want  of  sleep  was  followed  by  disease,  and,  their  terrors 
increasing,  by  death.  For  in  the  daytime  as  well,  though 
the  apparition  had  departed,  yet  a  reminiscence  of  it  flitted 
before  their  eyes,  and  their  dread  outlived  its  cause.  The 
mansion  was  accordingly  deserted,  and,  condemned  to  soli- 
tude, was  entirely  abandoned  to  the  dreadful  ghost.  How- 
ever, it  was  advertised,  on  the  chance  of  some  one,  igno- 
rant of  the  fearful  curse  attached  to  it,  being  willing  to 
buy  or  to  rent  it.  Ath^nodorus,  the  philosopher,  came  to 
Athens  and  read  the  advertisement.  When  he  had  been 
informed  of  the  terms,  which  were  so  low  as  to  appear 
suspicious,  he  made  inquiries,  and  learned  the  whole  of  the 
particulars.  Yet  none  the  less  on  that  account,  nay,  all 
the  more  readily,  did  he  rent  the  house.  As  evening  be- 
gan to  draw  on,  he  ordered  a  sofa  to  be  set  for  himself 
in  the  front  part  of  the  house,  and  called  for  his  notebooks, 
writing  implements,  and  a  light.  The  whole  of  his  servants 
he  dismissed  to  the  interior  apartments,  and  for  himself 
applied  his  soul,  eyes,  and  hand  to  composition,  that  his 
mind  miight  not,  from  want  of  occupation,  picture  to  itself 
the  phantoms  of  which  he  had  heard,  or  any  empty  terrors. 
At  the  commencement  there  was  the  universal  silence  of 
night.  Soon  the  shaking  of  irons  and  the  clanking  of 
chains  was  heard,  yet  he  never  raised  his  eyes  nor  slack- 
ened his  pen,  but  hardened  his  soul  and  deadened  his  ears 
by  its  help.  The  noise  grew  and  approached:  now  it 
seemed  to  be  heard  at  the  door,  and  next  inside  the  door. 
He  looked  round,  beheld  and  recognized  the  figure  he  had 
been  told  of.  It  was  standing  and  signaling  to  him  with 
its  finger,  as  though  inviting  him.  He,  in  reply,  made  a 
sign  with  his  hand  that  it  should  wait  a  moment,  and  ap- 

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Pliny,  the  Younger 

plied  himself  afresh  to  his  tablets  and  pen.  Upon  this  the 
figure  kept  rattling  its  chains  over  his  head  as  he  wrote. 
On  looking  round  again,  he  saw  it  making  the  same  signal 
as  before,  and  without  delay  took  up  a  light  and  followed 
it.  It  moved  with  a  slow  step,  as  though  oppressed  by  its 
chains,  and,  after  turning  into  the  courtyard  of  the  house, 
vanished  suddenly  and  left  his  company.  On  being  thus 
left  to  himself,  he  marked  the  spot  with  some  grass  and 
leaves  which  he  plucked.  Next  day  he  apphed  to  the 
magistrates,  and  urged  them  to  have  the  spot  in  question 
dug  up.  There  were  found  there  some  bones  attached  to 
and  intermingled  with  fetters ;  the  body  to  which  they  had 
belonged,  rotted  away  by  time  and  the  soil,  had  abandoned 
them  thus  naked  and  corroded  to  the  chains.  They  were 
collected  and  interred  at  the  public  expense,  and  the  house 
was  ever  afterwards  free  from  the  spirit,  which  had  ob- 
tained due  sepulture. 

The  above  story  I  believe  on  the  strength  of  those  who 
affirm  it.  What  follows  I  am  myself  in  a  position  to  affirm 
to  others.  I  have  a  freedman,  who  is  not  without  some 
knowledge  of  letters.  A  younger  brother  of  his  was  sleep- 
ing with  him  in  the  same  bed.  The  latter  dreamed  he  saw 
some  one  sitting  on  the  couch,  who  approached  a  pair  of 
scissors  to  his  head,  and  even  cut  the  hair  from  the  crown 
of  it.  When  day  dawned  he  was  found  to  be  cropped  round 
the  crown,  and  his  locks  were  discovered  lying  about.  A 
very  short  time  afterwards  a  fresh  occurrence  of  the  same 
kind  confirmed  the  truth  of  the  former  one.  A  lad  of 
mine  was  sleeping,  in  company  with  several  others,  in  the 
pages'  apartment.  There  came  through  the  windows  (so 
he  tells  the  story)  two  figures  in  white  tunics,  who  cut  his 
hair  as  he  lay,  and  departed  the  way  they  came.  In  his 
case,  too,  daylight  exhibited  him  shorn,  and  his  locks  scat- 
tered around.  Nothing  remarkable  followed,  except,  per- 
haps, this,  that  I  was  not  brought  under  accusation,  as  I 
should  have  been,  if  Domitian  (in  whose  reign  these 
events  happened)  had  lived  longer.  For  in  his  desk  was 
found  an  information  against  me  which  had  been  pre- 

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Latin  Mystery  Stories 

sented  by  Carus ;  from  which  circumstance  it  may  be  con- 
jectured— inasmuch  as  it  is  the  custom  of  accused  per- 
sons to  let  their  hair  grow — that  the  cutting  off  of  my 
slaves'  hair  was  a  sign  of  the  danger  which  threatened  me 
being  averted. 

I  beg,  then,  that  you  will  apply  your  great  learning  to 
this  subject.  The  matter  is  one  which  deserves  long  and 
deep  consideration  on  your  part;  nor  am  I,  for  my  part, 
undeserving  of  having  the  fruits  of  your  wisdom  imparted 
to  me.  You  may  even  argue  on  both  sides  (as  your  way 
is),  provided  you  argue  more  forcibly  on  one  side  than 
the  other,  so  as  not  to  dismiss  me  in  suspense  and  anxiety, 
when  the  very  cause  of  my  consulting  you  has  been  to 
have  my  doubts  put  an  end  to. 


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